To Riddle Alone
by Yanagi Uxinta
Summary: Life has returned to normal for Jessica White after moving to Lume and saving her mother from an ancient malice two years ago. But now Epsilon, her guide in those dark times, has gone. The darkness is rising again, but this time Jess has to fight alone.
1. Prologue

**Hey people! Don't have much to say really, except this is my first fan fic but definitely not my first piece of fictional writing. It stands a good chance of being edited or whatever, and updates probably won't be frequent as college is ruling my life at the moment. This is just the prologue, so it's quite short, but the actual chapters will be far longer, I promise. Review if you like, I'm not bothered if you do or don't (probably because I rarely review myself...oops) any constructive critiscism is welcome, and I hope you enjoy the fic! **

**Oh, and shouldn't forget this:**

**Disclaimer: All characters, locations, names etc used in this fic are the property of Christine Morton-Shaw, not me!**

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****My Diary**

I guess I thought it was over. That life would go back to being normal. Well, as normal as it can get when you're corresponding with a not-a-ghost-bright-being person via notes and messages in an ancient, virtually unknown language. But other than that, I know that I took it for granted – something that would always happen, the same way Dad would rush off every five minutes to take a photo, or how Mum would doodle on every scrap of paper she found. And it did go back to normal, for a while. Long enough for me to start thinking, 'Jess, it's the average life for you now. Get used to it.'

But then it stopped.

There had been a few warnings; a few careful words, clues cropping up more often than they had since the Greet two years ago. But it was still sudden. Unexpected. All the messages, all the clues. All the talks with someone who was more a clear, diamond shadow than substance. It all cut off, dead.

So I went down to the cottage. But Epsilon wasn't there anymore.


	2. Chapter 1

**Sorry for the very short prologue, the chapters will be far longer from now on. Hope you enjoy it!**

**EDIT 19/08/11: Revised this chapter; changed some content and generally made the two of them more in character.  
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**Disclaimer:**** Nothing is mine.**

**Chapter One**

**THERE ARE TWO MEMBERS IN THE CHATROOM: AVRIL  
JESS**

**AVRIL:** So everything's set then? I dunno why you moaned about that old house so much – it's great! I can't wait to come back.

**JESS:** I think I just hated the change. I was angry with Mum and Dad, mostly. I've gotten used to it now. Anyway, you sure you wanna come? Mrs Shilling is still here, you know.

**AVRIL:** Oh, that old hag! Oh well, I'll just have to spend the whole two weeks arguing with her and avoiding her…again.

**JESS:** She misses you too.

**AVRIL:** Yeah, well, whatever. Gotta go – Mum's telling me to go the chippy, lazy cow. See you later XXX

_AVRIL has left the chat room._

**E:** Hello, Jess.

**JESS:** ...Epsilon?

**E:** Of course.

**JESS:** Wait, wait, wait. You've not talked to me (your occasional clues notwithstanding) for TWO YEARS since the Miradel collapsed. You let me think that you'd been injured or something crazy like that so that you couldn't do your whole 'scare the life out of Jess in the cottage' thing, and NOW you just pop up again as if nothing happened?

**E:** That would be an accurate, if not very detailed, summary of events, yes.

**JESS:**...

**E:** I see you haven't grown out of your sulking yet.

**JESS:** My WHAT? I do not sulk!

**E:** Oh, so your extended silence was a mark of your newfound maturity?

**JESS: **...You are so irritating.

**E:** Thank you.

**JESS:** ...You enjoy that, don't you?

**E:** What?

**JESS: **Irritating me.

**E:** It is quite entertaining, yes.

**JESS:** ...

**E:** Are you still sulking?

**JESS:** ...

**E:** Aren't you curious as to why I am here?

**JESS:** Fine. You got me. Why _are_ you here? You disappear for two years, other than dropping the odd Lumic clue you _know_ drive me mad, and suddenly you're back. Why?

**E:** To warn you. The Dark Beings are growing...restless. I've yet to discover why.

**JESS:** Wait, the Dark Beings? Didn't they just, I dunno, _stop_ after...after the tower fell? Dr. Parker and Ely and all the others haven't been doing anything weird; just normal stuff. Looking after sick people. Fixing nets. That kind of thing.

**E:** If it all 'just stopped', then why did you not say the Inverter's name?

**JESS:** What? Are you doing that freaky 'watching-me-while-you're-not-actually-there' thing again?

**E:** When you hesitated before writing 'after the tower fell'. Yes, I can see you again. Are you going to answer my question?

**JESS:** Dunno.

**E:** You don't know if you are going to answer, or why you hesitated?

**JESS:** I dunno why I couldn't write his name. Just didn't feel right. Like I shouldn't.

**E:** The way it did in the cave? When you saw his name carved into the wall?

**JESS:** …Alright. Yeah. But why do I feel like that _now_? I'm in my bedroom, nice and safe and normal, with my parents, a crazy old aunt who is as likely to roast someone alive as say hello, and a huge dog downstairs. _Why_ should I feel uneasy about saying his name?

**E:** Because you are too fixated on 'normal'; you have forgotten – precious little concerning Lume is 'normal'. And to have your family around you may be a comfort, but it does not mean you are safe. Your house is not a fortress.

**JESS:** Well thank you for thoroughly terrifying me.

**E:** I apologise. But it is necessary. This is as real as it was before.

**JESS:** I know. And I know, two years isn't that long, especially if you can jump through time like a jack-in-the-box. But it feels like ages to me – and I don't want to get wrapped up in all that stuff again. It's more than scary; it's dangerous.

**E: **I know. But this isn't something that will go away just because you're scared; it will only get worse. Something dark is happening again, and you may be as involved as you were the last time. I need you to help me, Jess.

**JESS:** Totally not panicking here. But…OK. Just no more riddles. Please.

**E:** Thank you. But I cannot promise that. Remember the jigsaw?

**JESS:** Yes. I feel ill just thinking about it.

**E:** I need you to watch the followers of the Dark Peril. They may be stirring once again. Look for any odd behaviour. Can you do that, Jess?

**JESS:** Ugh. Yes. What else do I need to do?

**E:** That is all, for now.

**JESS:** What, no riddles? No more ghostly relatives of mine to show me?

**E: **Not yet.

**JESS: **I'm going to assume you mean the riddles and not the ghosts when you say not yet. And wow. I may actually get through whatever is happening without throwing up multiple times. Okay. I'll...will I see you at the cottage? The way you used to be, I mean. Not just a silver shimmer.

**E:** You might.

**JESS:** Really?

**E:** You might.

_E has left the chat room._


	3. Chapter 2

**My Diary**

Why is it, that when life has been complicated once, it _stays_ complicated?

I'm getting ahead of myself – I'd better say what happened; to put my thoughts in order (seriously, the only solid thought I've _got_ at the moment is that first line) and to make a note of this. Like last time.

First of all; and the most obvious thing: Epsilon's back.

I know; it's not like he left, not really. But now he's actually _back_; on the chat rooms and things, not just floating about all invisible leaving dropping Lumic notes like sweet wrappers.

Second: He says things are starting again. Why, I don't know, as there's no Cimul to give the relic to. Even though all it holds now is blessings. And has once again been nicked by a kleptomaniac porpoise.

I had to force myself to write his name then. Bad sign.

Third: I'm scared. Again. And yet again thankful that Mum and Dad usually leave me alone when I'm in my room. Usually.

Because I don't think I can act to them at the moment; pretend everything's ok. Dad would think I was ill, be all concerned. Mum would catch on though. Start with the questions. Usually I love our talks; it doesn't help me understand things any better, of course – getting my head around trigonometry is hard enough, never mind how meaningless time is! But today I don't think I could deal.

Mrs Shilling…she'd probably realise something odd was up. Something other than being sick.

I just wish I knew more; I might be less scared then. Or more scared, but more prepared too.

Epsilon says there's not much I can do right now; just keep an eye on Dr Parker, Ely and the others. The old followers of the Inverted Rule.

Jeez, now I'm starting to _sound_ like Epsilon!

Anyway, I talked to Epsilon this morning, a bit before eleven. That gave me plenty of time to go for a wander after an early lunch (Mum would kill me if I left without eating something).

So I went down into town, Domino in tow. He enjoyed the run out, I think. It's getting hotter again, more summer weather than spring.

I figured the best place to start was in the village; where most people live. I think there's only Dr Parker who lives outside the town, besides us of course, and he's usually in town anyway, making his rounds.

Since we moved here, I've obviously gotten to know the locals a bit better. Social this may be, but helpful when I'm trying to see if anything unusual's going on? Not so much.

Between chatting with people and avoiding being mobbed by the kids (okay, so it wasn't me they were mobbing, it was Domino, but me by association!) I tried to spot some of my targets...

Now I'm sounding like James Bond.

Anyway, Jerry Cork was outside his house, whittling a piece of wood, with Agnes and little Judith sat nearby. Nothing unusual there. I tried to see what he was making, but couldn't make out more than a chunk of wood yet. Probably a present for Judith, the way she was watching him.

Moving on before Agnes saw me so that Jerry Cork and I could both avoid a conversation we didn't want, I passed his house and headed further into town; towards the shops where there are more houses.

The story was the same with the others; Luke Lively, Ely. Utterly normal. Ely, sat outside his house making a fishing net, Luke sat with him, looking half asleep in the warm sun and unwilling to move.

Doctor Parker, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. Couldn't find him in town, and he wasn't at home, unless he was ignoring me when I called up. In any case, the only sign of life in Milton House was the cat I'd once mistaken for Mrs Shilling. I wasn't too keen on the idea of scouring the Island for the absent Doctor, so I turned back.

Giving up for the day and by now craving more food than the measly sandwich I'd grabbed before leaving, I was more focussed on getting home and to the fridge than what was going on around me.

So when I heard that first haunting, piercing note, it confused me. Epsilon? Here? No.

Then I worried. Had someone found the cottage; stolen the flute? How, I don't know, since Epsilon can keep anyone (me especially) from touching his stuff.

That left me to spinning around, looking for the old flute, maybe floating in mid-air drawing attention to itself.

Instead, my eyes landed on old Jerry Cork.

He'd finished his carving. A wooden flute, identical to Epsilon's.

Or, almost.

That first note, the one that seemed about to lead on to one of those ancient oriental-like tunes Epsilon was so fond of, instead changed to a lighter, more homely tune; less eerie and otherworldly; a riff you might hear in a folksong.

It was short; only lasted a few seconds. Then Judith and Agnes clapped and Jerry Cork lowered the flute, crouching down and handing it to Judith with a kind smile.

As he straightened, though, his eyes went straight to me. That smile turned, slightly, into something different. More sinister, secretive, yet without losing that kind cast.

It made a ribbon of ice shoot up my back.

Then little Judith saw me and Domino and came hurrying over, clamouring to play us a song.

Still dazed, I sat and listened to her wheezy attempt at a nursery rhyme tune. Then she gave it to me.

"Play me a song, Jess!"

I took the flute on autopilot, turned it over in my hands, examined it.

Yes, it was almost the twin of Epsilon's. With one difference.

Epsilon's had his signature on the mouthpiece, that thin little toppled half feather. This one had the Ouroborus.

I dropped the flute. Babbled apologies, excuses to Judith as she picked it up. Answered Agnes. Yes, I was alright. Stay for lunch? No, I've already ate; thank you though. Okay, see you later.

Take care.

I made my way back to the Big House, sneaked back in through the back door, and grabbed a few chocolate bars. I wasn't hungry any more. I just needed the comfort food.

And to stop the shaking. I felt like I was on a sugar crash. It took three bars just to start thinking straight.

Okay, so that was definitely something odd. Which is what Epsilon had told me to watch out for. So now to tell Epsilon.

Down to the cottage it is.

**6 p.m. **

Once it had accepted me, Epsilon's cottage always made me feel safe. (And yes, the cottage did accept me. Or Epsilon did. Either way, its stopped feeling like it wanted me OUT the way it did the first time I went.) I love sitting in the rocking chair or hammock upstairs, just relaxing.

It was good to go back. I think Epsilon realised that, because he gave me a few minutes to reacquaint myself with the place before appearing when I sat in the rocking chair.

As ever, it was just that hint of strange shadow that gave him away. Then again, I'm getting used to spotting him by now.

"Epsilon." I was glad my voice had steadied from my shock, but I think he already knew something was wrong. I hadn't taken as long to root about as I usually did, just a quick check of the desk. Sure enough, the flute was there, as old and untouched as it had seemed when I first saw it. Nothing was amiss; everything exactly as I had left it the last time I'd visited, and only my footprints in the dust.

Still, I picked up the flute gently and carried it with me to the chair, feeling oddly protective of the delicate little instrument with its beautiful, haunting music.

He didn't speak, as such, but the shadows moved, and I got the impression of wordless comfort. It relaxed me more than the cottage and the chocolate put together.

"You did as I asked." Not a question; a statement, but I'm sure I heard a pleased tone cradling his words.

I nodded, taking a moment to get my thoughts in order.

"I couldn't find Doctor Parker. But that's not what worried me. I passed old Jerry Cork's place on my way to Milton House, and he was carving something. On my way back, he'd finished it." I paused, gently running my index finger over the straggly symbol on the wood. "It was a flute, just like this, but with the 'Borus on it. He played it, and for a second it sounded like it was going to be the same tune you play. Then he just gave me a look. It was just so...so _knowing_. Whatever you think's going on, I think you're right."

We were both quiet for a while, until I looked up from my tracing fingers to Epsilon's shadow.

That dark, clear shimmer was muted, as if in deep thought. As I watched though, it cleared slightly, as if realising I had a question.

"Epsilon, what's happening? Why is all this starting up again? There's no reason to, is there? Unless those old men are into revenge and scaring the hell out of me, why start with all the creepy stuff again?" I stopped my barrage of questions, hoping Epsilon would be able to answer them, but doubting he could. If that was possible, I doubted we'd be worrying about them right now.

"I don't know," Hearing the words still made me feel tired though. Sixteen years old, yet for that moment I felt as old as Epsilon. However old he is.

"There is something more you should see, however. Go down to the lake when you can. You'll find it there."

At the thought, my legs cramped in protest. Lume Lake was in the middle of the island, near enough, and I'd already walked the length of the island twice today. Don't get me wrong; I was in far better shape than I was two years ago – Epsilon saw to that, making me march all over the island. Mum definitely couldn't complain about puppy fat anymore. But to get around Lume, you really needed a bike at least, if not a car. Unfortunately, Mum had banned me from using her bike since I came home with it with a buckled wheel, that day when I went down to the Lake to find Dad taking photos of the swan.

Wait.

"Epsilon, this thing I need to see, it's not a swan, is it?"

No reply. When I looked back up, he'd gone, but he'd forgotten to take the sudden sense of foreboding with him.

Panic steadily building in my chest; I stood, calling Domino as I headed for the door. My loyal hound bounded down the stairs, tail looking ready to fly off his body he was waving it so fast.

Taking comfort in his sturdiness, I left the cottage at a near run. The miles didn't matter anymore. I _had_ to see that Lake.

When I got there, I scrambled up the tree, in the same place Dad and I had sat watching the swan show us her – _his_ – back two years ago.

Panting for breath, I finally clambered in view of the Lake.

Nothing. The water was utterly devoid of life.

The relief seemed to diffuse into my core as if dragged in through my pores from the outside air as I sat down heavily and sighed, getting my breath back as I held my head in my hands for a moment.

Remembering what Epsilon had said, I looked up from my unfocussed exam of the bark beneath me, to scan the smooth water for anything that could be what Epsilon-

There was a swan on the lake.

For a moment I froze, unable to move. From the ripples spreading out from underneath it, I guessed it had been diving when I first looked at the lake. I say I guessed; more it was a detail I filed away for later in some corner of my mind that wasn't screaming '_Run._'

It was white, one small comfort, not that filthy black that I'd come to hate.

And then, just like with Jerry Cork, it turned from its preening to look at me. A single look, loaded with purpose. Then Domino saw it and barked, breaking the contact between my wide eyes and its beady black ones.

The swan rose up on the water, wings opening wide as it ploughed through the surface of the lake, running into take off.

I ducked as it flew over my head, biting back a scream, but I didn't miss the glint of a silver snake eating its own tail, hanging around its neck.


	4. Chapter 3

**This is quite a dark chapter, and maybe slightly out of character, since in the book we don't see Jess in a full-blown panic/rage. Also, a slight edit made to the last chapter, just correcting a small detail. Thanks to Rebel of my Destiny for your support! It's appreciated.**

**Usual disclaimer; nothing is mine.**

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**My Diary**

I remember thinking that jumping out of the tree probably wasn't a good idea. Okay, there were far more expletives in that thought, but that was the gist.

I did it anyway.

I landed hard, jarred my leg, but didn't really notice it until later. I was too focussed on the swan that was heading straight for our land.

Domino was barking, only now realising my urgency as we both left the footpath that laced the lake, favouring the open ground to run straight rather than following the path and taking longer. Into the forest to the left of the river. Past the bridge. Quick. Quick. Out of the trees. Find it!

Oh, god.

It wasn't heading for the Big House at all.

It was heading for the cottage.

It was far ahead of me; its silhouette black against a slowly darkening sky as it started to descend. It was almost there.

Talon-like nails were clawing at my lungs, my legs. Ignore them. Run.

I sprinted across our land, heading for the next cloud of trees. Domino was panting beside me, his long legs carrying him in huge bounds across the grass. I fought to keep up, purely as a way to get faster. Remembering the words of my old dance teacher – aim higher than what you can get, then you'll surpass what you thought you could get.

Trees again. There's the stone seat. Turn right.

Even though I've been through here so many times the thorn bushes have a definite gap in them, when I dashed through the thorns tore at me, my clothes, my hair, my skin.

I only stopped when I realised Domino wasn't with me. He'd frozen, stiff-legged, growling and bristling at the top of the path, refusing to budge an inch.

No time. I turned back to the cottage, finally coming in view of it as Domino started barking; a panicked, frightened noise as he realised I was still moving forward.

The swan was there, metres away, a ghostly spectre that sped towards the cottage. The door was open from when I'd left, and the swan – now as insubstantial as Epsilon – swept in through the open door.

Which slammed shut as all the windows were engulfed in darkness.

I was screaming again, but this time not for me. I had no idea if Bright Beings could be truly _hurt_, but Epsilon had never been as, I don't know, strong? Powerful? _There_, as he had been before the tower fell. So I knew that, even if he couldn't actually be hurt, he could be damaged. As far as I knew, he still was.

I reached the door, tried to yank it open. It wouldn't move. It was like something was holding it shut on the other side of the door, something a lot stronger than me. I could feel it – a thick glut of greedy, pulsating power. Sickening. It obliterated everything.

Giving up on that, I turned to the windows – broken as long as I'd been here.

I couldn't see through them. There was plenty of light left – it was nearly summer – but none of that light penetrated the encompassing black inside the cottage. I craned my neck; look for _some_ sign of light in the place. Some sign Epsilon was okay.

There! Almost out of sight, that silver shimmer, flickering rapidly now. I could hear the ghost of a sound; metal on metal. I remembered Epsilon's double-edged sword. A killing tool. But also a shield, a defence. A guardian's weapon.

Epsilon's clear shadow flickered again, the light beating as if in time to a rapid heartbeat. It should have lit up the entire house, it was bright enough, but its light reached an invisible boundary and was choked by the dark.

I knew that cottage back to front by now; could walk through it blindfolded. I remembered the bookcase, with all its odd objects; the solid lava, forever on the edge of spilling off the shelf. That steady, eternal O of wood.

The stalactite, on top of the book case. Sharp, I was sure.

I didn't give myself time to think; I boosted myself in through the window, the last few shards of glass raking my clothes. They were ruined anyway. The fact the clear shards drew blood didn't bother me. I was too full of adrenaline to notice.

Once inside, the blackness swallowed me completely.

Careful not to turn away from the window and become disorientated, I mapped out the room in front of me. Turned towards the bookshelf, made my way over, feeling the way with my outstretched hands.

There. That oddly rough, cold blob – the lava. Up, Jess – top of the case!

Found it. As my fingers wrapped around the slender security of the stalactite; my own weapon, there was a rush of air. The sound of something large being thrown.

Epsilon, shouting me. Telling me to duck; to get out.

I ducked. Not far enough.

The rocking chair smashed against the bookshelf, breaking both objects with the sheer force of the throw. Both fell on top of me.

I covered my head with my arms, still clinging onto the rapier of stone in my hand. Heavy, wooden things crashing all about me. One of Epsilon's pots smashed; my nose was assaulted by SPICES OF THE ORIENT.

I could feel the splintered remains of the rocking chair draped over me; what was left of its frame pressing into my back, but holding up the rest of the wreckage.

Swiping my arm in front of me, I cleared the floor and crawled out of the wooden cocoon. Stood. Looked for Epsilon.

There; illuminating the cupboard behind where the rocking chair used to be. The one his coat was hanging out of that first day he scared me out of the cottage and into finding the bucket. That wasn't what drew my attention though.

I could actually _see_ him – the way he'd looked the night of the Greet, in the cavern. Dressed in gold and scarlet. The noble warrior, right now fighting the impenetrable blackness that surrounded us.

Only watching him then did I realise that I had no idea what I was doing. Running in, grabbing the stalactite, fighting had seemed like a good idea, but I didn't know how to fight, other than running in, waving my makeshift sword and hoping to hit something.

I was whispering – whimpering, almost – under my breath. At first I thought I was saying 'Oh, god.' Then I listened to myself and recognised the single word I was uttering like a last plea for help.

'Agapetos, Agapetos, Agapetos.' Nothing else. Just that. Just His name, in the instinctual hope it would help.

The darkness heard me. What had once been a swan, now an unrecognisable mass of something primal and ugly, seemed to rise up, coalesce even more.

It lunged for me; expanding to keep control of the space it vacated.

I screamed, lashed out blindly with the stalactite. It passed straight through, just as the blackness washed through me.

No physical injury. Just an overwhelming tiredness and an odd chill that seeped into my core. No wonder, really, the way I'd been running up and down the island all day. I was so tired – but the rocking chair was gone. I couldn't even _see_ the rocking chair. All I could see was Epsilon. Oh, well. I didn't need to sit down to sleep. Just stay standing, or lie on the ground...

As I slowly sank to the floor, I could hear Epsilon yelling, as if from far away. Something about sleep. Dark. Wake up? Why; if I was tired I should sleep, shouldn't I?

My head touched the floor, the ammonite floor soothingly cool against my cheek.

Something bothered me though; stopped me from drifting off. An overpowering smell; if it weren't so strong, it'd be nice. I'd smelt it before, one of Epsilon's little pots of incense.

It kept me awake, cleared my mind. Epsilon suddenly made sense. A Dark sleep.

It didn't take physical injuries to kill, after all.

That, and the spice still invading my nose, roused me, coughing the rich smell out of my lungs.

Turning my head to the one source of light in the cottage, I saw that the time the darkness had taken to take me down had given Epsilon a slight reprieve. The light was stronger now, building up for a final assault.

The blackness roiled in response; and for a moment in its depths I saw a demonic face, contorted into an animalistic snarl.

Still on the ground, barely holding myself up on my hands and knees, I could only watch as the two forces collided.

The darkness, far larger, swarmed over Epsilon, now nearly eclipsed by the light he was emitting, swallowing him whole.

The light was gone.

Blind, for the first time completely and utterly blind, with only the afterimages scored into my eyes to focus on, I felt a thrill of fear and started to scramble forwards, towards where the light had been.

Then it exploded in my eyes, blinding me in the completely opposite way. Blinding me with light.

The sounds radiating from that white light terrified me. The sound of claws on wood, metal, tearing, destructive sounds. It could feel vicious swipes falling around me, I was so close, but none touched me. They tried, came within an inch of me, but then stopped, unable to go further.

The light and dark were entwined now, splintering each other.

The sounds grew louder, deafening, an unearthly crescendo of violence as the contents of the cottage were whirled about in a frenzy.

Then, something changed. I don't know what. Someone made a mistake, or got a sudden burst of strength, because the darkness convulsed, draped itself around Epsilon a second time, and imploded. Collapsed before my eyes, the whole thing.

At first, I thought it had robbed me of my senses as well, because I couldn't see anything, hear anything.

But then I started to make things out; vague shapes. The strong scent of spices. A light touch against my hand.

I picked it up, examined it by touch. Paper. I couldn't see much because it was dark; a natural darkness. Night time.

Shakily, I stood, and went to find the candles and matches amongst the odds and ends scattered in one of Epsilon's drawers.

In the small, brave candle light, I stared about the cottage in disbelief.

No gale nor hurricane could have destroyed things as thoroughly as this. Everything was smashed, torn. The rocking chair, a broken skeleton of what it was. The charts on the wall, ripped to shreds. The bookcase, shattered, the quartz rock split into fragments. The lava snapped.

The wooden O, so sturdy and heavy, clawed apart and pounded as if by hammers into splinters.

I felt sick.

Suddenly distraught, I spun around, my candle flickering rapidly in a way not unlike Epsilon's fluctuating light.

Chaining the tears that wanted to pour out of me to the rock lodged in my throat, urging me to cry, I ran upstairs and was met with a similar sight. Hammock in shreds, the round picture in the square frame torn, but still hanging, upstairs window now smashed.

The desk hadn't escaped the carnage either; deep claw marks ravaging the wood.

They were odd, though; some pieces of paper still resolutely lying on its surface, the gouges in the wood skipping over them completely, as if they were sheets of metal rather than paper.

And me. Other than the wounds I'd given myself on the thorns and glass, which only now were starting to hurt, I was untouched. I only had one conclusion. The magic that Epsilon applied to his papers, the things he didn't want people to touch, he'd put on me, too.

Tentatively, I stretched my hand out, the stalactite long forgotten on the floor downstairs, chopped in half. My fingertips brushed paper. I could touch it.

Picking them up, I turned them over to see Lumic script, in handwriting I recognised from all over the cottage. Epsilon's handwriting. Remembering the piece of paper in my hand, I looked at it properly for the first time. More Lumic, from Epsilon, scrawled very fast. And at the bottom of the page, his signature, the little half-feather on its side.

That hurt.

I started crying and couldn't stop, this time. Because now I could feel it. The loss; not just of Epsilon, but the cottage. It wasn't safe anymore. My den, my sanctuary, was gone.

When I finally calmed down enough, I stood from where I'd curled up against the wall, and looked around again. The picture on the wall drew my eye, again. That golden O, broken now.

Slowly, something built up in my chest, cleansing the grief from it.

Anger. Absolute burning, boiling _fury_.

If that side of the picture was ruined, then the other side would be bloody _destroyed_.

Striding over with a limp from my jarred leg, I lifted the picture from the wall, taking a moment to try and gently smooth the picture together again, but the curled edges disobeyed me. I shook my head; deciding to fix it later. I still had too much fire in my veins right now to do anything but tear that snake, the Ouroborus, apart.

My expression dark, I turned the frame over, ready to rip the picture with my bare hands.

And screamed.

The photo landed on the floor with a clatter as I dropped it from hands that felt scalded.

There was no snake there. Instead, the gruesome, leering face of Cimul, screaming out at me from the gold background, his scaly face falling apart as his skin shedded, the hole where his canine should be a harrowing gap. His eyes, as awful as they had been in the cavern, made worse by the wild delight in their depths. The victory.

A sound, from behind me. I whirled, half mindless with fear, some small clench of hope that maybe Epsilon was here, maybe he hadn't left...

The wall was being gouged by an invisible knife, carving symbols into the wall. I watched in growing horror as the five symbols making up Cimul's name became embedded in the wood.

Sobbing with fear, I started towards the door, but saw the picture again. I couldn't let that thing stay in here.

But I couldn't bring myself to touch it.

Moaning with fear, I crept back towards it, kicked it over so that I could see the ripped O.

Picking it up by the frame, I kept the O towards me at all times, tearing at the image on the other side.

I couldn't get a grip on it.

Gasping, just wanting to run, I instead tugged out the O, then threw the frame, and horrific picture, out of the broken window as hard as I could.

Then I ran, down the stairs, over the cracked kitchen floor, out the door, stuffing the papers and picture in my hand into my pocket so I could run flat out.

Domino was gone, leaving me to fight my way out of the thorns alone, then sprint home, choking on tears.

I heard them before I saw them, people shouting my name. People with flashlights.

Terror took hold of me again for a moment, but then left. This wasn't a horde of dark beings after me; it was a search party. And there was Mum and Dad, with Domino whining at them, trying to lead them through the trees.

I crashed towards them, saw their flashlights swing in my direction, Domino shooting to meet me.

I was bowled over by my dog as he covered my face in anxious licks, me not caring as I held him in a tight hug and sobbed into his black fur.

Then Mum and Dad were there, helping me up, dragging a whining Domino off me before he could suffocate me. Right then, I wouldn't have minded.

Then my parents were leading me, half carrying me back to the house as exhaustion kicked in. It was only when we got back to the house and they called Doctor Parker to look at my wounds did they see the full extent of my panic.

I screamed at him, kicked, punched. Threw things. Wouldn't let him near me. They were saying something about a sedative, but I had my back against the dance barre of my room, armed with homework books, guitar sheets, CD cases, my fists.

Eventually I ran out of things to throw, but it took Dad, the Doctor and another two men from the village to fully restrain me so that Doctor Parker could administer the sedative. Even then I screeched at him, nearly incoherent, but he knew. I could see. There was a look in his eyes, past the false concern, that was so similar to the eyes of the Cimul picture that it started a new round of hysteria that lasted until the sedative worked.

Eventually, people left, until it was just me, Mum, Dad, Mrs Shilling and Domino. I was in bed, dozy, with my family nearby.

After a while, Dad went to bed and took Domino out with him, looking haggard from the long night. Mrs Shilling went next, though I could tell she knew something had happened. Mum stayed the longest. I don't remember her leaving, just her hand stroking my face soothingly, brushing my hair out of my eyes, talking in a comforting hush. The last thing I noticed before I sank into sleep was a burning in my forehead, in the exact spot that a drop of Agapetos' blood had landed there, two years ago.


	5. Chapter 4

**Author note: **I'm so sorry this took so long! College was taking up all my time before summer, but summer itself I had a holiday then, I will admit, I forgot about this. It was a review from TheAdventuresJustBeginning that both reminded me and gave me the kick up the backside I needed to finish this off. I was going to get a Lumic font to put in this chapter, but due to how long its taken me to get this uploaded, I made some edits and put it up without the font. That may or may not change in the future :)

All that said, enjoy the chapter, and sorry for the wait (again!)

Disclaimer: The Riddles of Epsilon belongs to Christine Morton-Shaw. As I am not she, I'm sure you can do the maths.

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**My Diary**

**3:10 a.m.**

When I woke up, it was dark. Either I'd only been asleep for a few hours, or I'd slept for nearly a day. A quick check on my phone clock told me it was the latter. I wanted to get up – I'd already drained the glass of water I'd found on my bedside table, and now my thirst was gone I was free to feel the hunger cramping my stomach. A sandwich and some chocolate bars the day before yesterday weren't enough.

But the idea of creeping around the Big House in the dark, when I'd spent my last few conscious hours trapped in it, in absolute terror, put me off. Instead, I flicked on my globe lamp and found the clothes I'd been in at the cottage, only then noticing that Mum must have changed me into my nightie.

It was a relief to find the papers – and the picture – still safe in my jeans pocket, though it only reminded me of what had happened.

Epsilon was gone. His cottage was destroyed; contaminated by Cimul.

But how? Cimul – yes, I'll write his name now, he won't scare me off, though I'm still terrified of him – is DEAD! He's buried under the rubble of the Miradel, has been for years.

Unless he's a ghost. Or whatever Epsilon is when he's all...ghost-like. He, Epsilon, once told me I am no longer dealing with the laws of this world, so maybe when Bright and Dark Beings 'die' (or get crushed under a few hundred tonnes of rock) they don't actually die, or can come back or something. After all, Epsilon never materialised fully, in a solid body, after the Miradel fell, he was always almost spirit like; barely there. So that's one theory; Cimul is now in a similar state to what Epsilon was after the tower fell, and so can move things around, mess with me, but doesn't have an actual, physical body anymore; be it his, Yolandë's, or the swan's.

Either way, I'm in trouble, and on my own, for now anyway. And the only way I can get through this in one piece and sane is to try and figure out what he wants. Find a way to stop him. And I think Epsilon's given me a starting point in these pieces of paper.

First, the scrap of paper that was resting against my hand after Epsilon's fight. It was quite short, and, guess what! Another riddle, joy of joys.

I'm glad I've learnt Lumic, because my box file is still down at the cottage, and I am _not_ going back there without some way of defending myself. Madness may run in the family, but I'm not suicidal.

Anyway, the translation.

'At lyrics start and lyrics end;  
I of X of X is the key'

I'd say I think he was going easy on me; the first line obviously refers to a song, with 'lyric'. But then it loses me. Lyrics start and lyrics end – the start and end of a song? But what song?

Okay, try the second line. 'I of X is the key'. The 'I' and 'X's confused me for a bit, but then I wrote it out without translating them, and I'll bet 'I' and 'X' are Roman numerals – one and ten. So, one of ten of ten is the key? Um...what?

Okay, so;

'At lyrics start and lyrics end;

One of ten of ten is the key'

Song, one of ten of ten...wait, what if 'one' is 'first'? So first of ten of ten. First of ten of ten, song.

OH! What's in a song? Verses. So, first _verse_ of ten _verses_ of ten...what? Songs? Maybe.

Assuming it is, the tenth song doesn't help much, but 'tenth' makes me think of a list. So...a list of songs? The only place I can think of that would have something like that is our library – or the internet, but that really would be impossible to find, and Epsilon has never given me something impossible, despite what I thought at the time.

So. A book of songs in our library? A book with ten songs in it; and I need the first verse of the tenth song.

Just as long as it's not like the ballad of Yolandë. That was both frustrating and scary, when I'd deciphered it.

In any case, searching our library is a job for later – it's still only half three in the morning, with no light yet.

May as well translate the other two pieces of paper while I wait. There's two of them – Epsilon's notes, by the looks of it. They're organised; his handwriting normal, unhurried. He must have written these before – or after, with him who knows? – the fight. But if he could write these after the fight, then surely he'd be here now? Pass.

There's no way I'm writing all this out in Lumic, then English. I'll have to find a new, temporary file 'til I can get my old one back.

Anyway, these pages are gonna take a while – I'll write what I find when I translate them.

**5:30 a.m., Dawn.**

That took longer than I thought. At least there's a bit of light now – enough to turn my lamp off and open my curtains to work in natural light.

I've just realised what a mess I left my room in after that incident with Doctor Parker. I think Mum and Mrs Shilling have tried to tidy it up, but I can still see a pile of wrecked homework books, and a large crack up the middle of one of my mirrors. I think I kicked it – or kicked Doctor Parker into it. If I did; good. I really hope it hurt him.

Moving away from that topic before I can get angry again – there's no point in smashing my room up even more.

So, yeah. The notes. As ever, they make little sense. It's like Epsilon knew I would have to read these at some point, so he wrote them as cryptically as any of his clues.

I think I'm going to give him 'Plain Speaking' lessons the next time I see him. It would save me a lot of time and headaches.

I'll keep the notes – translated and otherwise – in my file. I'll copy them down in a minute – it's finally light enough that I feel I can go downstairs without freaking myself out at every shadow. It's that warm, golden light in the sky – the light you get just as the sun's coming up. Vibrant. Comforting. It turns the wood in this old house into gleaming copper and amber. A sunrise like the one Mum and I watched from the beach. When the relic was returned to the sea and Agapetos vanished from sight.

Oh, god, I hope I see him and Epsilon again. Because if I don't it'll still feel like Cimul won. Even if he doesn't.

I can't stay put any more; I'm going to have to move before I turn into a blubbering wreck. First, food. Then the library. And hope I don't wake anyone up.

**Later.**

Well, after about two hours of looking through books, and nearly breaking my neck to see the higher shelves I might add, I think I've found it.

There were five books of songs in our library (I was surprised – our library's not that big!) and two with ten songs in them (though some of them were those old songs that had about a gazillion verses in them that no one would be able to remember anyway). One of them had songs from all different countries in it, and the last song wasn't even in the English alphabet – it looked Arabic or something. So that left me with one book; all in English; thank god. If Epsilon wanted me to translate Arabic now on top of everything else, I think I'd go crazy!

So, I'm after the first verse of the tenth song of ten songs, which is this:

Praise, for the King is well!

Praise, for the devil is dead!

Buried in his cave of misery,

Only snakes of stone still hold him.

Okay, this is creepy. This book – and the song – has got to be a few hundred years old; the front page says it was printed in fourteen fifty. But it is clearly referring to events that only happened two years ago - the 'devil', Cimul – who else? – dying, and being buried 'in his cave of misery'; the cavern he retreated to in the myth, where he became so twisted, and the cave he lured Martha, Mum and me to.

The cave that Martha was trapped in, and died in, cold and alone. If that isn't the 'cave of misery', I don't know what is.

I guess this is more of that 'time is meaningless' stuff, but it still makes that paranoid, watched feeling come flooding back.

So, that's half of that figured out. The first line has me really confused, but the last one...the 'snake' could be the Ouroborus, so snakes of stone I'd guess would be the Ouroborus stone on our land. The thicket around it has always made it impossible to get into, but if I need to I could always steal a knife from the kitchen and hack my way through. The way things are going, I may have to.

Back to the first line. 'Praise, for the king is well!'

I don't think the 'praise' bit has anything to do with the riddle; it's the 'king is well' bit that's important.

The only 'king' I know of that could be relevant is King L'Ume, but all this is saying is that he is 'well'; he's healthy, not ill or something.

That can't be it; there's got to be something else.

So far, it's mentioned people and places of Lume; King L'Ume, Cimul, the cavern and the Ouroborus stone. It's probably going to match that pattern. L'Ume was mentioned in the same line, so somewhere associated with him, maybe?

That only leaves the whole freakin' island!

Something more localised. The King is well. L'Ume is well. L'Ume. Well. L'Ume.

Wait.

On the map, wasn't there a well to the southwest of the Miradel? I'm sure it was labelled 'Well of L'Ume'.

So, I've got two places to search for I-don't-know-what, with no help from Epsilon, creepy dark beings and followers generally scaring the hell out of me, and absolutely _no idea_ why any of this is happening!


	6. Chapter 5

**Okay, here's chapter 5. Again, sorry for the wait (you guys must hate me XD'') but at least it's not as long as last time...right? I've got to admit, I don't have a set plan for this - I'm making it up as I go along. I've got a vague idea of what's going to happen, and that's it. So, what might well happen is that I'll finish this, then go back and change it a lot to make it better, or correct a load of goofs that I made (like in the early chapters calling Domino a 'barometer', thinking it was a breed of dog. Yes, I'm an idiot XD) I'm telling you this just to warn you that if this doesn't make perfect sense at times, it's because I'm a bad author and don't plan things. Anyway, I'll issue the usual disclaimer (no characters or setting belong to me) and let you get on with the chapter. Enjoy!**

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**My Diary**

**4:45 p.m. **

I couldn't get out of the house straight away; I had to wait for mum to wake up (she's the early bird; always up first unless I'm terrorised by demons the night before and wake up, after being tranquilized, at ridiculous o'clock in the morning) then she was fussing over me, getting me breakfast (I didn't tell her I'd already ate – at that point, I just wanted to be coddled for a bit).

Thing is, then she started asking questions. As far as she was concerned, I'd gone missing for a few hours, only to come sprinting out of the woods in a state of acute terror and practically attack the doctor when he came to check up on me. Of course, mum doesn't trust Doctor Parker anymore than I do, but usually we tolerate his visits when they're necessary then politely, _metaphorically_ kick him out.

Needless to say, I had some explaining to do. But...I didn't want to get her caught up in this again. It was bad enough for me to, but mum seems more, I dunno, susceptible, to this stuff. So, I should probably rephrase what happened next. I had a lot of _lying_ to do, and do well.

Too bad mum's such a good liar herself – she found me out easily.

Right after me spinning some story about scaring myself silly in the woods – the result of the lengthening shadows and an overactive imagination – she just looked at me.

"If that's the case, why did I see you running as if all the hounds in hell were at your heels, _past_ the house and into the woods yesterday afternoon, then not come out until we were all out searching for you?" She asked simply, and I knew I was busted. She wouldn't fall for anything other than the truth.

Or, something close to the truth.

I could tell her an edited version of the truth – one that wouldn't worry her. But I hit a snag right away – I wouldn't be able to lie my way around the state I was in last night, and the hours I'd been missing, without letting her know things were serious.

If it weren't for that, I could have bluffed her – and she would have fallen for it. But as things stood, I'd have to spill everything.

I still toned down the worst parts, but there was no disguising the bare bones of the truth. Things looked bad.

"So I'm going to the Ouroborus Stone on our land first, then to the Well of L'Ume, see if I can find anything. Not that I know what I'm looking for, but there's got to be something otherwise Epsilon wouldn't send me there." I finally fell silent, but mum didn't say anything, just sat staring at something in her own mind. Not that wistful, vacant look though – if that started again I might just leave home and go to live in Mrs Shilling's old house – it was more like she was deciding something.

Still, the silence was awkward, and I started to chatter to break it.

"Well, the stone thing is covered in brambles and thorns, so I'm gonna have to borrow a knife from the kitchen to cut my way through. It shouldn't take too long; I'll take my diary so I can write down what I find, then I'll walk to the well and do the same. I should be back in a few hours, so-"

"I'm coming with you."

The thoughtful look had gone out of mum's eyes; she was meeting mine now, looking a little bit scared but determined nonetheless. I gaped at her, speechless, then closed my mouth before kicking my brain into gear to answer her.

"No, you're not. Mum, you don't get it-"

"I understand perfectly, Jessica," She interrupted me, her stern voice coming back with a startling familiarity. "I understand that my little girl is getting dragged into something dangerous _again_, and I will not stand by and let you go into it alone."

I groaned. Partly at the 'little girl', but mainly at her stubbornness.

Patiently, I tried to explain to her.

"Mum, listen – the last time all this was happening, you were in la-la land for most of it; you had no idea what was happening to me. Yes, you were scared by what was happening to you, but you were just seeing visions, right up until the Greet anyway. That was _nothing_ compared to what I was going through. Look," I tried again, when she looked ready to cut across me for the second time – I was going to have to tell her everything at this rate, she wouldn't be convinced to stay behind any other way, "when I told you about two years ago, I left out most of the details – I didn't want to freak you out, and I wanted to put it behind me. My point is you don't get how scary this is; how much it plays with your mind. And I've got a feeling that things are gonna be worse this time – while Epsilon was still here, one of the first things he told me was that my house wasn't a fortress. So if he was doing his spooky predicting the future thing; that tells me that weird things are gonna start happening here too." She looked alarmed at that, but I was on a roll; I just leant forward and gripped her hand over the breakfast table, shaking it. I had to make her understand. "But I think the less you know, the less involved you are; the less it affects you. Look at dad; he had no clue about any of this, and Mrs Shilling only knew because of her dad. It didn't affect them directly. And now that the tooth is useless, I don't think you'll be involved either – the only reason you got pulled into everything was because you were the innocent Cimul, needed. The way I see it, only I'm involved, and I'm the only one that needs to be involved. Maybe I'm the only one that can set things right, I don't know, but things will only get more complicated if you get tied up with this as well." I paused, judging her expression. She looked hesitant, undecided. So I dropped my trump card, hoping it was enough. "Mum, I won't be able to solve this if I'm worrying about you too. So please, just let me do this. All I need from you is your understanding; and to try and keep dad and Mrs Shilling from worrying too much. Please?" I very, very rarely beg for anything serious. Yes, I'll beg for a new phone unashamedly, but in things like this, I guess it shows how serious I am. Mum finally nodded slowly, but before I could thank her, she held a hand up to forestall me.

"On two conditions," She said.

Worrying slightly, I nodded for her to go ahead. I wouldn't agree to anything til I knew what she was proposing.

"You keep your phone with you, and turned on at all times, so I can call you or vice versa if you get into any trouble." She looked utterly serious. I didn't even consider disobeying her. "Second, though I hate to have to suggest this, take your dad's Stanley knife. He doesn't use it much; he won't notice it's missing. If something does happen, I want you to have something better than a spike of rock to defend yourself with," Solemnly, I nodded, shaking on it, though remembering the way Epsilon's cottage had looked after the fight, I doubted a knife would be much use. It would be good for getting through the thorns though.

"Third," Mum said unexpectedly, opening her arms wide before I could object to this extra condition. "I want a hug, and a promise you'll be careful." Her voice sounded shaky. My eyes felt hot suddenly, as I obliged and gave her a bear hug. She was scared for me.

God, I had been so stupid to waste those years fighting with her, saying I hated her. Both of them. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"I promise I'll be careful. I'll take Domino with me; he'll bark if anything's up." I added. Domino may be a scaredy-cat, but he's the best noise-maker in the business if anything fishy happened.

Finally, mum let me go, and I left the kitchen to raid dad's desk in the dark room – otherwise known as the garbage bin, since odds and ends have always found their way into it, be it his redundant Stanley knife, a roll of string, or a half-eaten tuna sandwich.

Insufficiently armed, I left through the kitchen, snagging Domino as I went. He went without a fight; quite happy to have yet another unscheduled walk. He seemed to get a lot of those.

The Ouroborus stone, when we reached it after struggling through the initial thicket, was revealed to be utterly choked by the same thorn bush that made up the thicket; it seemed set on wringing blood out of the unmoving stone. Good luck with that, Mother Nature.

There was barely a square inch of stone visible beneath the marauding vegetation, but that wasn't going to last long. Leaving Domino to chase birds – the silly dog still hadn't quite grasped the fact that birds refused to be herded, and flew off when he tried – I turned the knife on the thorns. I'd had the foresight to take a pair of dad's gardening gloves with me; within the first thirty seconds I was glad I had. Those thorns were nasty.

It took me about half an hour of hot, tiring sawing and wrestling to clear the stone completely – I started at the base of the thing, hoping that I could cut each branch and pull it free. Unfortunately, the entire thing had become a twisted, fused mass of black thorns and green leaves, so I had to cut all the way around the base and then tug the whole thing off in one reluctant bundle.

As soon as I did, I felt that sense of foreboding that I now knew meant something bad was about to happen; it was a more intense strain of the same feeling that had told me not to let Doctor Parker see the base of the bucket. But, as ever, it was too late now.

Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

The stone was oddly coloured; it looked like a solid chunk of obsidian; black with splotches of red mixed in. It stood about ribcage-high on me, and was about six foot long by four foot wide. It was old, obviously, but despite its age it wasn't as worn as I'd expected. I could tell because there were carvings all over it; they looked smooth, but still very clear. Perhaps the shield of thorns had protected it from erosion and the wind?

The carvings were (surprise, surprise) many, many Ouroborus, inscribed over and over again, in an odd pattern. No matter how hard I looked at it, I couldn't make any sense of the odd spacing of the snakes. Also, around the base of it were carvings that looked familiar. Pictures that told the story of King L'Ume and Prince Cimul – the day L'Ume let his subjects choose who to follow. I remembered, briefly, that these images had been shown in the window of the cottage, when Epsilon was explaining how close Sebastian had gotten to solving everything. Only the carvings then had been fresh; sharp, not encrusted with dirt and smoothed out by the wind.

As I stared at the ancient pictures, a low scratching sound started. Curious, I looked all over the rock for the source, but couldn't find any stray branches that could be causing it. But then I looked at the top of the slab again, and my stomach turned over.

The stone was being carved.

An invisible knife was gouging out new lines between the Ouroborus rings, small, detailed, intricate lines that had me backing away slowly. Some of the disembodied knives were more like sledgehammers, breaking great chunks of the stone away as other sections of it rose up in small hills and ridges.

Domino was barking, snapping and snarling at the thing, but keeping a wary distance. Smart dog. I wished I could say the same for his owner. Me.

It was quick; too quick for me to turn and run before I knew what it was.

Cimul was being carved out of the rock.

It was like one of those old tombs for rich kings; ones that had statues of the dead person on the lid. Only this wasn't a sarcophagus. Cimul was being reconstructed in front of my eyes, with every decisive strike of the ghostly blades. The Ouroborus on the stone wrapped around his arms and legs, his face was hacked out of the stone down to the peeling scales and malevolent eyes. The odd colour was explained; it was the colour of his skin. The shades of pools of dried blood.

What had my legs trembling was the look of utter glee on his face. I realised then that the song, or at least part of the song, had been a trick. A trap. Epsilon wouldn't have pointed me towards it if it couldn't help us. But it was a gamble. It must have been, because here, now, Cimul was being crafted a new body, and I'd made it happen.

I couldn't run though. I had to stay and see the result of my mistake. Call it morbid curiosity, suicidal tendency, whatever you like, but I couldn't move from that spot until I knew the outcome.

It only took a few seconds; fifteen at most. When the stone had stopped screaming during its reformation, everything lay still. Cimul lay on the stone slab, staring up at the sky in delight, and didn't move. I held perfectly still for thirty seconds, a minute, and nothing. Slowly, wretchedly, I crept forward. I had to know if this was just a perfectly crafted statue, or if he was about to spring to life at any moment.

I was shaking, and didn't want to touch him, both out of revulsion and the instinctive fear that the instant I got too close, he'd grab me. I couldn't deal with that.

Instead, I pulled out my dad's Stanley knife, edged just close enough so that, fully extended, my arm out, I could poke at the demon with the tip of the blade.

I hesitated for a second, then summoned up what courage I had left – having Domino growling like a chainsaw a few feet away certainly helped – and prodded Cimul's arm with the knife.

Tough scales resisted briefly, then gave way, denting slightly. I drew back swiftly, backing away a few steps for extra security. It told me all I needed to know – it was Cimul's body on the stone, and not just a cleverly crafted chunk of rock.

The only thing that kept me from running for the hills, screaming, was the fact that he still hadn't moved. Not a twitch. It was steadily becoming apparent that this was a case of the lights are on but nobody's home. This may have been Cimul's new body (definitely not an improvement on the last one) but Cimul wasn't in it. Hopefully he was still stuck in his old body, buried under the Miradel. Hopefully he _stayed_ there, and didn't come to make use of his custom-made vessel that was apparently going to be snoozing here until something decisive happened.

Oh, god. This thing was on our land. I was _not_ going to be able to sleep, knowing this vacant body was lying just a few miles away.

Still, there was no way I was going to touch it to move it, so it was going to have to stay where it was, and I was going to have to toughen up.

Luckily, no casual passerby would see it – I'd only cut a small gap in the thicket; and it wasn't visible from the footpath. They'd see the same wild thicket as they always did, and would have no clue that a comatose demon body was just a few metres away...

I really had to stop thinking about this thing.

Slowly, I backed out of the thicket, Domino right behind – or in front of – me. His fur was bristling, and he hadn't stopped growling. Once out of the cage of thorns, I knelt down and wrapped shaky arms around the warm bulk that was my dog. I'd discovered that Domino was a wonderful security blanket.

Gradually, Domino stopped growling, but he kept his eyes or ears pinned on the stone as we walked away, and didn't fully relax until we reached the village. Even then, he stayed close to me. Did I ever say how much I loved my loyal dog?

Suddenly, he sped off up the street, only to barrel into the group of children running to meet him. I take it back. Loyal, my foot.

I wasted a few minutes in town pretending to be polite to the kids and the inevitable parents that soon followed, hastening to catch up to their walking, talking crèche of future Houdini's. Though I wasn't in the best mood to be talking about the weather, it was a surprisingly welcome reality check that helped settle my nerves almost completely.

It took the best part of an hour after leaving the village to walk around Lume Lake until Crag Point, and then cut across open grassland until we reached the well.

It didn't look like anything special, to be honest. It was made of old, weathered stone, covered in moss and ivy like the rest of the wells on Lume.

Since I could see at a glance that there was nothing obviously unusual about the well, I went about clearing the ivy and moss, being struck by a strong sense of déjà vu as I did so. If I found another arrow, I was going to turn Epsilon over to Mrs. Shilling for a tongue lashing as soon as I found him. Then again, they'd seemed to get on quite well at the Greet, so that probably wasn't a reliable method of scolding.

Luckily for me, (and Epsilon too, I guess) there wasn't an arrow under the foliage. In fact, there wasn't anything under the ivy. Well, the well was there, but that was it. There was nothing significant about it. At all. I looked over the whole thing. Just old grey stone, and a rotten pulley system.

I kicked a stray rock, ended up hopping around on one foot and swearing in agony – only the tip of it was visible, but the rest of it was buried into the ground and didn't budge an inch when I introduced my foot to it.

When I could stand on both legs again, I glared at the well, silently cursing Epsilon. Why had he sent me here? A hollow ring of stone in the ground, with stagnant water at the bottom, and not even a bucket to show that the previously ivy encrusted lump had been a well!

Of course, maybe people had brought their own buckets when this thing was last in use. But something niggled at me. The broken pulley system – sodden, ancient wood and rusted metal – still had a length of brown, water swollen rope hanging off it and dangling into the black depths of the well. Something about it was odd, though. I only realised what it was when a gust of wind – it had been picking up today, hopefully we'd get a summer storm to relieve this sticky heat! – rustled the long grass and whipped my hair almost vertical.

The rope didn't move. It barely creaked in the wind, even though the blast had been easily strong enough to buffet it against the wall of the well.

Anchored. The word just popped into my head – and epiphany if you will. Something was in the well, anchoring the rope.

A bucket? Or Epsilon's clue? Either way, it seemed I only had one option. I groaned, and Domino flicked me a curious look, before bounding over and nudging my hand with his cold nose.

I was going to have to go into the well.

I decided to write all this down before I went in, just in case something happens and I get amnesia down there and forget everything. Unlikely, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility. At least Mum knows where I am, so if I'm not back by nightfall, she knows where to send the search and rescue party. Domino won't be able to follow me, so if anything happens he'll probably run home for help anyway.

I don't believe I'm doing this. The things I do for spectral beings from another dimension/time/sanity. Okay, I'm procrastinating now. Just take a deep breath, Jess, and hope the rope holds.


	7. Chapter 6

**Next chapter's up! Again, it's only been spell/grammar checked by Word, so if you see any mistakes please point them out so I can correct them. I wrote almost all of this (5.5 out of the 6 pages that make up this chapter) in one sitting, so if it gets a bit blurry/confused at the end, it's because it's twenty past ten at night and I'm brain dead XD**

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Christine Morton-Shaw. With that, enjoy!**

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Remember when I wondered if Beings could be killed? Well, I know now. They can.

Because I am going to _strangle_ Epsilon when I see him.

The rope didn't snap, luckily, but the well was pretty deep, and when I reached the bottom – nearly falling over the bucket, I might add – the water was still and stagnant and it _stank_. And cold. The walls were slimy with moss and old water. Obviously, my trainers and shins were soaked through – I was definitely throwing that pair of socks away when I got home – the water came up to almost my knees.

Though I'm complaining about it, it wasn't the water that caught my attention; at least once I'd looked up from my ruined trainers and stopped complaining at the ick all over them. The well was the junction between two tunnels. Southwest and North facing. From the faint sound of dripping, I'd guess that they were both very long.

I checked the walls of the well around me, to see if there was any indication of which path to take. Sure enough, next to the South-western tunnel, was the sign.

An arrow.

I promptly forget punishment by Mrs. Shilling. That was when I decided that Epsilon should be deprived of air (if he even breathed) for as long as my arms would stay outstretched without aching.

Okay. Calm down, Jess. You can strangle him later. For now, it's down the tunnel for me. I wish I'd brought a torch, but if I'm perfectly honest, I didn't expect to find a tunnel at the bottom of a well.

I really should just stitch a rucksack to my back, and stick every possible thing I could need into it. Torch, food, Stanley knife, chocolate, rope, clean jeans...the list could go on.

Hang on, I've just remembered – my phone's in my pocket. And I charged it this morning – I'll be able to use the light from the screen to see at least a few feet in front of me.

Wow. I didn't know that thing was so bright. I guess when you're in total darkness; even the slightest light seems powerful.

The tunnel _was_ long. And cold. And boring. There was nothing on the walls, and just shin-deep icy cold water to wade through. After about twenty minutes of walking (I'd guess I was near – maybe even underneath – the Milton House) I finally got a change of scenery. I walked into a small cavern in the earth, with another tunnel leading off towards the West.

More water, but the edges of the cave rose up, so that the water pooled in the centre, giving me some dry ground to walk on. If anything, it made my legs feel colder, being in the chill air again.

Though this was far smaller, just a small hole in the ground about three quarters the size of my bedroom, the oppressing feeling of tonnes of earth above my head, the cold air and quiet whisper of water as it moved, all reminded me vividly of the cavern under the Miradel. The fact that the place was only half a mile away Northwards didn't help my inexplicable nerves.

I shook myself, forcefully pushing the memories aside. The last thing I needed was to start panicking, underground, with only a rope hanging in a well to escape with.

I looked around the walls again, searching for something significant, be it a riddle or another arrow, or a scrap of paper. Something.

I raised my phone, noting the still full battery (this thing could last for days, unless I got talking to Avril), to illuminate the walls. After sweeping the walls, I spotted the telltale grooves of carved writing in the wall, in the left hand curve of the wall opposite me.

Glad of the dry ground – I didn't know how deep that pool went – I skirted around the edges of the cavern until I reached the few words – just a line, really. Translated, this is what they read:

'Reclaim the knowledge which was lost, that I am bound to.'

Oookaaay, that could refer to anything. Lost knowledge pertaining to Lume...again, it could be anything to do with the Island's history which has been forgotten by the locals. I don't remember coming across any 'missing chapters' of Lume's history, in all my researching the place at Epsilon's instruction. I'd check my box file, see if there was any-

Oh, I'm stupid. Of course. 'Reclaim' – that means it's been taken, which in a sense it has, since it's in the cottage, and the cottage was taken by some Dark Being. The 'knowledge' was obviously the information in the box file, and 'lost' because I can't reach it anymore, not with it still in the cottage. But this says I have to – I've got to get it back.

And 'bound to'? Epsilon wrote this, obviously – doing his freaky time jumps again – but how is he 'bound to' the information in the box file?

Okay, if you're bound to something, you're connected to it, and can't break that connection – you're chained to it, in a sense. So...Epsilon is bound to the box file? How? And _why_?

If I sigh anymore I'm going to fog up the cavern. Wondering how and why won't get me anywhere – but getting the box file back will. Looks like I'm going to have to go back to the cottage and face whatever power is in there. If I'm lucky it will have gotten bored by now and left.

Somehow I doubt it.

Anyway, enough thinking. Time to go home – I need to reassert my belief in reality and sanity before I go running into any other Dark Being freaky things, even if they used to be a refuge for me.

I was about to turn back to the South-western – now the North-eastern – tunnel, but as I shifted I heard something from behind me. A soft, tiny clattering – like miniscule stones being dislodged and showering to the ground.

I spun, my nerves already on edge in this place that felt so similar to that secret tomb in the earth, and slipped. The rock ledge I'd been standing on wasn't wide enough to accommodate my sudden twist.

I fell into the pool. And kept on going. It wasn't shallow at all, not here. It was deep. And absolutely freezing.

The instant before I hit the water, that smell assailed my nose. The stench of rotting that rose up from the lake in Cimul's cavern. It was here too.

The instant before I hit the water, I caught a glimpse of the opposite side of the cave. There was an odd rock formation protruding out of the wall, but then I slammed into the pool and lost the details.

I felt my back scrape a rocky ledge, and the water suddenly plunged from freezing to glacial. I don't know how I knew – I still had my eyes closed – but I had the distinct impression of being in a larger space.

Then, oddly, my feet hit the ground, then slid off.

I found myself floating almost horizontally, my shins nudging an unnaturally straight, sharp edge.

I had to know where I was.

Underwater, I opened my eyes. I screamed, the sound oddly muffled in the water, even to my own ears, then clamped my mouth shut as the putrid water flooded my mouth.

I was eye to socket with a skull. A skeleton, lying on a stone slab. A solid sarcophagus, with the body lying in place of the statue.

I pushed back, my arms floundering, and increasingly aware of the limited air in my lungs. I couldn't rise all the way though – I was caught. Looking down, I nearly fell into hysteria there and then.

The skeleton's fingers were clenched in the hem of my T-shirt.

The skeleton seemed to nod, the movement of the water disturbing its skull. With its trademark smile, it seemed to be leering.

Screaming in the back of my throat, I thrashed, tugging at the slick bone and pushing away with my legs. Desperation was a powerful tool – with a muffled 'snap' the fragile connections between the bones of the arm broke, the hand falling to pieces in my own.

I kicked up, off the plinth, and dislodged a femur. Oh, god, don't be sick in the water. I'll drown. I pushed myself away from the gleaming corpse, but it made no move to follow me, except to turn its head fractionally in my direction – water movement again? I didn't pause to wonder. I turned and kicked for the surface.

The ledge I'd hit on my way down was a big hole in the ceiling of this larger room. It must have flooded at one time, and the water and risen up to puddle the floor of the tunnels above.

I dragged myself back through the gap, my chest heaving fruitlessly – I _needed_ air, but I was still underwater.

I braced my feet against the edge of the hole and pushed off, propelling myself to the surface.

I broke it with a desperate gasp, and treaded water for a few moments, retching and spluttering.

Once I regained my wits fractionally, I struck out for the bank. I didn't think; didn't turn around to reach the nearest dry ground. I just set my sights on the ground in front of me and headed for it, I was that dazed and frightened.

I'd been right to avoid walking through the pool – there was no shallow – the entire thing was just a pitfall into the tomb. Thinking over it now, I guess I know who that skeleton was. Milton Parker. His descendant said that he was buried near the Miradel. Legend said it was under or in it, but as I'd seen, that was impossible. This, however, was close to the Miradel – but closer to his own home. If I'd estimated right, I was directly underneath Milton House.

I didn't think about any of that then though; I just dragged myself onto solid ground and crumpled there, shaking. With cold, with fear, with my slowly deteriorating sanity.

A sound registered dimly, the same as the one that had caused me to spin and fall into the pool. I barely reacted – I was too numb and shocked to do anything.

A feather light touch of my hair, however, caught my attention.

How many times can a person scream in genuine terror before their heart gives out? Because mine nearly did, that time.

It was a finger brushing my hair. An outstretched hand. An arm. A body. The wall. There was a body protruding out of the stone; a body made only _of_ stone.

Cimul.

Even as I watched, more little stones fell away, and more of his body exited the wall.

His fingers moved, fractionally, and his nails scraped my cheek, drawing thin lines of blood.

That was when I screamed.

His face was the same as the empty body on the Ouroborus stone, the same as in the picture in the cottage. Gleeful. Victorious. Because I was trapped underground with the demon and I had almost no way out.

A high, electronic beeping dragged my attention away from his face. My phone, still clenched in my blue fingers, still working, was flashing its screen at me.

Low battery.

I stared at it, my heart pounding desperately, hollowly. It couldn't be. Water couldn't do that to a phone. It had been fully charged just minutes before, when I lifted it to read the line on the wall. But now the little green battery was empty, just a sliver of red left to show me how long I had light left to see by.

More gentle clattering. The foremost of Cimul's legs was starting to show. He was walking out of the wall. The wall closest to the Miradel.

My body stayed frozen on the ground, though I could feel my muscles tensing, crunching, ready to run, ordering me to. God, Jess, move! Move!

My phone beeped again, and I jumped. It freed my other muscles, it must have done, because I was suddenly up and turning blindly for the closest tunnel – the Western one.

I went to run, but jerked to a halt.

Something had hold of me.

I turned, hit my hand on solid rock as my arms waved. Cimul had grabbed hold of one of my belt loops as I turned. He'd stooped to reach my hair, but now he stood almost straight. Only his right leg was still trapped. There was a subtle shift in the arm holding me, and I suddenly felt an insistent pressure around my waist.

Cimul was pulling me backwards.

I don't know how I knew, some deep instinct or just pure hysteria, but I was absolutely certain that he intended to seal me in the rock; trap me there the way he had been trapped for the past two years.

I threw myself forwards, clawed at the air to drag myself forward, twisted, writhed, beat at his hand with my phone. His grip only got tighter. My feet skidded back a few inches. He was winning. I could see his other arm slowly rising to grab me; to keep me from moving. Something told me that if he did, I would die here.

I couldn't make him release me, but I could try to tear the belt loop. The stitching couldn't be that strong, surely? But no matter how much I threw myself around, trying to break the threads, they held firm.

Then, I remembered it. Dad's Stanley knife. Still in my pocket. Thank _God._

I pulled it out, and heard a crunching of rock and nearly fell backwards as Cimul dragged me closer. The glimpse of his face as I looked behind me told me why – he wasn't smiling anymore. He'd seen the knife, and knew I was about to escape. His free hand was a few inches away from me.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

I twisted, started to saw at the loop of denim. The knife wasn't the sharpest – unused, not very well maintained, but after a few seconds the fabric began to fray.

A sibilant whisper made me freeze, look up at that demonic face, eyes wide. Cimul was speaking. His mouth didn't move, but the words came easily, if softly.

'_Drop it. Drop your blade, girl. Free yourself now, and your family will be the ones to pay.'_ As sinister as his words were, his tone was oddly compelling. He may have dispensed with deceit, but he hadn't lost his ability to manipulate. Bringing my family into this was the only thing that made me pause.

Don't stop, idiot! Free yourself now, and you're free to stop him from hurting anyone!

I snapped out of whatever was keeping my eyes fixed on him, and returned to slicing through the strip of denim, my face set. I wouldn't listen to anything else he said, I promised myself.

Evidently he realised this, and resorted to other tactics. He gave another tug that nearly pulled me off my feet, and for a moment that stone arm was the only thing suspending me. Instinctively, I straightened out and threw my arms forward to catch myself on the ground.

I felt the belt loop tear, not quite free.

I dropped my phone.

I let go of the knife.

I lunged at it, but couldn't catch it. Another tug pulled me away, and my shins scraped the ground as my balance was further thrown off. I twisted; just a few strands connected me to Cimul now.

Then, I realised something. I'd been focussing on Cimul's arms, had forgotten about the rest of him.

As I looked, he stepped fully out of the wall, and that stiffness of movement was lost.

He yanked me further back as his other arm darted forward to grab me. I threw my whole weight in the opposite direction, and with a snapping, ripping sound, the belt loop tore free.

I felt myself fall to the ground, felt Cimul's arm graze my hair, missing me. Then, I was scrabbling forward, ducking, running, scooping up the knife as I plunged past it.

The pool was in front of me.

The tunnel was across the pool from me.

My phone beeped once more.

The light went out.

I didn't think, this time. I just ran and dove into the water. Cimul was stone – if he followed me, he'd sink. I was a strong swimmer, and I didn't even have the full pool to cross.

Keeping the tunnel in front of me, I cleaved through the water, listening for the sound of Cimul's pursuit. The sounds were distorted; my own splashes were ricocheted off the walls, as were Cimul's running footsteps, clashing in mid air and confusing me.

The bank.

I pulled myself out and trusted to memory, Agapetos and luck. I ran, and felt the rock wall of the tunnel graze my left shoulder. I'd gone through, and Cimul was still behind me, running around the pool's edge. Now, though, I didn't know where this tunnel led; if it was a dead end, or a long cycle back around to the well. If it was either, I was dead. Cimul would catch me in that time – he was stronger and faster than I was.

But I had no choice, so I ran on, blindly, my ears straining for any sound, trying to filter out the pounding of my own footsteps and heart.

Then, the sound of stone hitting stone intensified, echoed up to meet me. Cimul had entered the tunnel.

There was another sound, though, louder, more powerful. Wilder.

And ahead of me.

_Where am I? _That suddenly seemed very important, and my adrenaline flooded mind had no problem recalling the map of Lume and pinpointing where I must be. The tunnel I was in now led Westwards – towards another well. But what if it wasn't pointing directly to the well? If it went between the well and the shore, and split into a T junction...one would lead to the well. The other would lead to a cave on the cliffs, and to the ocean.

That was the sound. Water. Vast, thrashing water.

That left me with an option – the ocean, where Cimul could not follow me, but where I stood a good chance of being killed on the rocks or dragged out to sea by the currents, or the well. The well may not have a rope, but if it did, Cimul could follow me.

But I had the knife. If I climbed the rope then cut it after me...

There was light ahead of me, showing what I'd anticipated. A dead end, straight ahead anyway. Light flooding in from the left, accompanied by the sound of waves crushing themselves on the cliffs. It illuminated the tunnel opposite it, which itself seemed to provide a faint, candle-like glow in comparison to the flaring flood of light from the cave entrance.

Decision time. Left or right.

My breath was catching in my throat now; ragged, exhausted. Cimul sounded just a few seconds behind me. I don't know if I can even climb the rope.

Left or right.

I don't want to drown.

I don't want to be caught.

Don't want to die.

Left or right.

The wall is approaching fast.

I turn right, rebounding harshly off the wall and nearly smacking into the opposite one. I keep on running, though I can feel blood on my hands and arms; the former from the knife digging into my hand, the latter from the rough wall.

I can see the small opening in the rock, and the light filtering down from the well. I can see a rope, and a tunnel in my peripheral vision, leading North. To the well between the village and the Graveyard? Probably. This must be a huge underground system; from well to well. God knows who made it, or what function it serves.

I don't slow as I reach the rope, I just retract the knife and clamp it between my teeth, pirate-style, then jump at the cord.

I'm a few feet off the ground when I grab it, swinging wildly. I don't even wait for it to settle before hauling myself up. I discover in a few seconds, with my breath heaving out around the knife, that climbing up is a lot harder than climbing down.

I feel a sudden tension on the rope, but don't look for its source. I know, and it would only slow me down. Cimul must have reached the rope.

I'm about halfway up by now, but half of _that_ was because I jumped. My arms are shaking, the muscles are burning. Each time I pull myself up, I think my arm will give way.

Come on, Jess. One more. One more. One more.

The wall! I nearly slip as I reach for it, but once I've got hold of it I don't let go; I haul myself up and over, grabbing handfuls of vines and thorns and ivy to pull myself out of the earth.

I tumble out, collapsing, but I force myself up again. Cimul is still on the rope.

Knife back in hand, I attack the rope just below the knot that has lasted who knows how many years, pulling below it to make sure it's taut. It cuts quite easily; the fibres are already heavily frayed, and the others don't take much persuasion to follow suit.

As the last few sever, I glance down. Cimul is only a foot away from the rim of the well.

The rope snaps.

Cimul lunges.

He misses the wall.

He misses me.

He falls.

I don't wait to hear the splash that tells me he's hit the ground. I'm staggering backwards, shaking with exhaustion. I trip over my own feet and fall on my backside. I stay sat for a second, thinking I should really get further away from the well, but too tired to move. Then my indecisive paralysis breaks and I slump backwards, collapsed in the grass on my back. Every muscle hurts, my cuts are stinging, and I'm still caught in that odd stage of shock, between hysterical sobbing, screaming and laughing.

I lose track of how long I lie there, but I think I doze off. When I climbed out of the well, the sun was low in the sky, but well above the horizon. When I next notice it, and make myself sit up and head to the Well of L'Ume to collect Domino, the sun is just touching the sea, turning it golden.

Domino actually meets me half way between the Well of L'Ume and what's left of the Miradel. Must have smelt me or something. All I can say is that I have never been more relieved to see him, and spent a good few minutes hugging and kissing him, even though from the dirt falling out of his coat he's been rolling around in a dust bath. He puts up with it for an unusually long time, then does his usual wriggle of complaint and worms his way free. It takes me at least an hour to trudge back home, by which time the sun in down and the last rays of red are fading from the sky.

Mum must have been watching for me, because as I walk up our drive, she comes running out of the front door to hug me and, upon seeing how white and bloodied I am, helps me inside. She looks as though her curiosity is killing her, but she doesn't ask questions. She simply slathers my cuts in antiseptic, bandages them up, makes me eat something, then lets me collapse in bed. I let her deal with Dad and Mrs. Shilling. I'm so tired I barely register my head touching the pillow.


	8. Chapter 7

Okay, here's chapter six! I've got a feeling this is going to be a lot shorter than the original, but that's kind of to be expected. Still, we'll see...

I would have had this out a lot sooner, but I've had a rather hectic few weeks. Not only have I had a rook of 18th parties (including my own) to go to, both me and my nan have been quite ill (we're still coughing), I've had my first physio appointment since my op and the other night my cousin was beaten up when he jumped in to defend his friend. He's okay, but he's still hopping mad (so was I, when I found out. I was all for helping him get the lads back, but thinking on it, that's not a good idea) and he's got a rugby match against most of the lads that beat him up at the start of January, so that is going to be a very interesting match indeed...So yeah, a slightly delayed chapter due to real life screwing up (again), but it's a fairly long one (like the last one) so I hope that makes up for it. I'll end this ridiculously long Author's note, and let you get on with the chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Christine Morton-Shaw.**

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**Later**

When I woke up (at something past two in the afternoon), I shovelled some breakfast down my throat and was about to escape back to my room when Mum came back from shopping. She made short work of herding me back into the kitchen and sitting me down for an interrogation. Why do I have the sinking feeling that these are going to become depressingly regular?

For a moment, she just sat and looked at me, eyes taking in all of my cuts and the plasters covering them.

Then, she spoke. Just three simple words.

"What happened, love?"

Again, I was torn. Tell her the truth; terrify her and be banned from leaving the house in case I get hurt? Or fudge the truth slightly to keep her calm, and maintain my freedom?

Slowly, I tell her. I tell her how I dug out the Ouroborus Stone, and how Cimul's body was fashioned out of it. I tell her of how I went to the Well of L'Ume, and climbed down it. Of how the rope broke half way down and I scraped my face and shins and bruised my hand when I hit the ground. Of wandering around, down the tunnels, finding the line in the wall. Falling into the pool, hitting my back, and pulling myself out. Getting spooked when my phone died – I mustn't have charged it before I went out – and running down the tunnels, grazing my arm on the tunnel wall, then climbing out at the second well. How _that_ rope snapped just as I got out. I must have fallen asleep, I tell her, because the sun was so low when I got up.

I wait, trying to keep the signs of a lie out of my face. I watch her and she watches me, steadily.

Then she sighs and shakes her head.

"Please, Jess, try to be more careful. You can't afford to be making mistakes like climbing down a god-knows-how-old rope that could snap at any moment! Especially with...all this going on." Neither of us can really name what 'this' is, but we both know what she's talking about.

I let out my breath quietly and smile, though it's a bit forced. I don't really feel like smiling just now.

I excuse myself; I'm feeling tired again, and my muscles are starting to ache with a vengeance. As I'm about to walk upstairs, I hear Mum shout me back.

"Oh, Jess! I forgot to tell you; you were so tired last night. Avril called; she was on the coach on the mainland. She should almost be here by now; your Dad's gone to pick her up."

I freeze. Oh, _crap_.

Avril, here, with all..._this_ kicking off again.

"How long will they be?" I ask, half turning on the stairs. When I look at Mum, I realise that she's not as blasé as she sounded. She knows that this has just made my life a lot harder; and maybe Avril's life too.

"Your Dad left about half an hour ago. The ferry should have arrived at half past." I looked at my watch. It was quarter to three.

I stood on the stairs, undecided. Wait for Avril to get here, then disappear and have her be in a huff with me for the rest of the day? Or go now and see if I can get any further with my search.

Mum decided the matter for me.

"You go and get ready. Take today off, Jess. You need it. You can go to the cottage tomorrow." I glanced down at myself. I was still in yesterday's clothes, and had that old cottony feel in my mouth that reminded me that my teeth desperately needed brushing.

I nodded, and turned back up the stairs. As I did, I spotted Mrs. Shilling in the door of the living room, listening in. Something told me she'd heard everything. She looked more worried than Mum did. Maybe because she'd spent most of her life investigating this place, and her grandmother's disappearance, whereas Mum was only half aware of everything during one summer. Either way, I made a note to talk to my great aunt about this. She was a smart old bat, and probably knew more about this island than most of the locals whose families had been here for generations.

On Mum's orders, I went upstairs and got washed and changed my clothes. I was just coming downstairs – feeling a lot cleaner and aching a lot less after a hot shower than I had, when Dad and Avril clattered in through the door, Dad lugging her suitcase. Avril always over-packed for her visits; you'd think she was moving in rather than staying for a couple of weeks.

Once we'd done our usual tight hug, Avril pulled back and immediately took note of the big, taped-on dressing on my cheek, covering the four nail marks.

"What happened to you? You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards!" She said, not sparing my feelings, as usual. I managed a half-serious scowl.

"I don't look that bad!" I protested. After all, I was clean, my hair was washed (and dripping all over Avril's shoes), and my clothes were fresh. Most of yesterday's had gone straight in the bin; no longer fit to wear. I just looked as though I'd been beaten up.

"But what _happened_?" She pressed. Damn. I never could distract her once she set her mind on something. I was painfully aware of Dad, Mum and Mrs. Shilling all listening in. So, I rolled my eyes and said in my best sarcastic tone:

"I fell down a well. Happy?"

"No," She said bluntly, but she finally let it pass – for now. No doubt she would try to claw the 'truth' out of me later.

To distract her from further questions, I grabbed her case off of Dad and – God, it was heavy! – started to lug it up the stairs. She soon caught up and grabbed the back end of it and together we managed – just – to manoeuvre it up the twist in the stairs into my room.

"What have you got in here, an elephant?" I gasped as we dropped it with a resounding _thunk_ on the floor.

"No!" She sounded faintly defensive, the way she always did when I needled her over the amount she packed. "Oh, and I've got a pressie for you."

"Oh, God." The first time, she'd bought me a charm bracelet with a little bucket charm on it. No joke. God knows where she got it, but she did. The next year, it was another charm – a stereotypical ghost. It had become a bit a of a running joke between us, one that baffled Mum and Dad. I wondered what it would be this time. A diary? A worm to go in the bucket?

She straightened from rummaging through her floored shoulder bag, and handed me something small and silver with a cheery, slightly sarcastic 'Here you go!'

I grin and glance down at the third charm. My smile freezes on my face.

It's a little snake. A snake biting its own tail.

"It's one of those funny little Oburus or Orobrus whatever things, look."

"An Ouroborus," I managed quietly. She snapped her fingers and nodded.

"That's the one. It's weird though. I didn't buy this one. I found it."

I shot her a sharp glance. Avril still didn't know what to believe about all the Beings business; she was still half convinced that I'd made it all up or something. She didn't take it seriously, anyway.

"Found it? Where?"

She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. I wanted to shake the answer out of her.

"In college. Me and Hayley were smoking behind the library fire escape and I just saw this little glint on the windowsill. I just thought it was a chewy wrapper or something, but when I walked near it on my way to dance I saw that it was this thing. I thought you'd like it, and look – there's just enough of a gap between the mouth and the tail for it to fit onto your bracelet." There was. How convenient.

I tried not to show how my heart was suddenly hammering. My muscles were aching again with the sudden chill I felt.

I forced a smile and put the charm gingerly in my bedside table drawer.

"I'll leave it there for now so it doesn't get lost – I'll put it onto the bracelet later." _Or down the drain._ "Right, do you want a drink? And you'd better go and say hi to Mrs Shilling otherwise she'll be glaring at you all fortnight."

The rest of the day was...good. Avril and Mrs Shilling resumed their love/hate banter, Mum and Dad bustled round, catering to our guest in between their usual dashes to photograph or paint. Domino fully monopolised Avril's attention, and she didn't complain. I kept a fake smile on my face; got drinks, laughed, set up the CD player in my room so that me and Avril could dance. She showed me the routine she'd done for her GCSE exam. I did one of my own that I'd been working on, before my life was screwed up _again_. I could almost pretend it was just a normal summer day.

The cottage. It only left my mind when I worried about the Ouroborus charm, and vice versa. I was running on auto pilot, and by the evening Avril had noticed.

"Hey, you've been looking pretty out of it all day. Don't tell me you've managed to find something to smoke _here_ of all places?" We were in my room; everyone else was either downstairs or in bed. Avril was going through the songs on my laptop, skipping from one to the next before any had a chance to finish.

I snapped out of my unfocussed staring at middle space, looked up at her and summoned up a sheepish smile.

"Sorry. I've had a lot to deal with lately," It was a typical excuse, and did nothing to sum up what I'd gone through in the past few days. It did nothing to clear my mind which was constantly beating out a pulse of worry.

Avril raised an eyebrow at me, sceptical. Oh, yeah. This was 'boring old Lume'. There wasn't enough happening to stress me out, or so most people thought. I realised I was going to have to elaborate slightly.

"I've not been sleeping or eating well – I just feel a bit run down," I shrugged, hoping that I looked pasty enough to make this excuse feasible. From the glance of my own face in the mirror this morning, I was pale enough to pass as dead, never mind ill.

Unfortunately, Avril snorted. Busted.

"Run down? More like fallen down," Uh...what? At my look of utter confusion, she gestured at my partially covered face. Oh. The scratches.

"So, what happened? Fall in some bushes necking a guy or something?"

I burst out laughing. Avril looked surprised; I know I was. It was just so...ordinary.

When I'd calmed, I shook my head, optimistically ignoring Avril's 'weirdo' looks in my direction.

"Nah. There's no one my age here, remember? I cut myself on some rock," I felt that sticking fairly close to the truth would be best. She couldn't accuse me of lying then, could she? "I was exploring some of the caves and fell down a bit of loose rock – caught my face on a bit of stone sticking out of the wall," As blasé as I tried to sound, the note of renewed worry, verging on panic, was blaring in my ears. I think it was just me though – Avril didn't seem to notice anything, and she finally accepted my story.

"You idiot!" She laughed, smacking my arm. I made myself laugh with her. Now that my explanations for my mood and cuts were out of the way, I knew she wouldn't nag at me for the rest of the night.

But even once we'd turned the light off and Avril was in dreamland, I lay awake, trying not to toss and turn too much and wake her up. The concern about the cottage was only growing stronger.

I should go now, I realised. I wouldn't be able to do so much with Avril here, but she was asleep – would be til noon tomorrow, if I remembered right. I could go to the cottage now; I had hours to work with.

Decided, I got up and dressed quietly, grateful that Avril was a deep sleeper unless someone kicked her.

On my way around the bed, I grabbed the charm from the drawer. I could throw it in the woods on the way to the cottage.

I didn't take Domino with me this time – I had a feeling that he wouldn't come into the cottage even if I did. I wished I didn't have to.

I took all the pieces of paper with me – my diary pages too, since that had all the translations in it to hand. My Dad's Stanley knife and a strong torch with new batteries (and a whole packet of spares) found their way into the backpack I wore, and I didn't know what else I needed to take.

I took a breath. Steadied myself. Set off.

It was strange, walking the island at night. Oddly peaceful. It settled my nerves slightly, until I started the walk up to the cottage. Then my heart started beating harder – as if to remind me it was there and not do anything stupid to damage it. Like waltzing into enemy territory with only a pocket knife for protection.

I almost had to shoulder the door open – it was as stiff as ever.

Wait. I hadn't closed the door after me, had I? I'd just ran out.

Well, that had happened before, and no one else had been in the cottage other than Epsilon, and Sebastian a hundred or so years ago. The door being closed didn't mean there were any Dark Beings ready to grab me in the shadows of the cottage...

I stood in the door way; half using the door as a shield. If anything flew at me, they'd have a job getting through _that_ plank of wood. It was an inch and a half thick, at least, and as stubborn as me.

Nothing did jump out at me, though. I shone the torch round and felt a painful aching in my chest and throat. I hated seeing this place so destroyed. Ravaged. I wanted to erase all the scars in the wood and stone, but there was nothing I could do. Maybe Epsilon could fix it...if I ever found him.

Slowly, I crept out from behind the door, wishing I could carry it with me. I could feel the tiles beneath my feet tilting oddly. A glance down showed me that they were cracked and broken.

It looked the same as when I'd left it last; the bookcase toppled and fractured, draped over the skeleton of the rocking chair. All the little knick-knacks of Epsilon's scattered about or shattered on the floor.

I could still smell SPICES FROM THE ORIENT.

The stairs were blocked by a splintered beam from the ceiling. Luckily, it had broken up when it hit the ground, otherwise I would never have been able to shift it. As it was, I had to leave my torch on a small table, aimed roughly at the stairs, and drag the ends away from the stairs, nearly breaking my back moving them.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I expected all hell to break loose. My imagination had been running in overdrive since I set out; filled with monsters and swans and a feeling of claustrophobia stronger than I'd ever felt before. Maybe the cottage had become even more unstable and would collapse around me? Would Cimul be there? Or maybe that ghostly swan from the lake; the Dark Being that Epsilon had fought with.

But, when I reached the bedroom, nothing happened. I shone the torch about warily, but it only lit up the shredded charts, the ruined hammock, the shards of splintered glass left in the window frames, the ugly tattoos carved into the walls. The desk.

I flinched my way across the room, waiting for an attack that never came. By the time I reached the desk, I'd finally accepted that there was nothing left in the cottage to hurt me, except the memories.

The box file was where I'd left it; in the drawer with Epsilon's small silver boxes. None of them had been touched, except for the year's worth of dust covering them.

Epsilon said that he was bound to the box file. I dragged it out and looked it over, kneeling on the floor since the hammock was in shreds. I don't know what I was expecting to see – Epsilon stuffed in a corner of it? I still didn't know what he meant.

I tugged out my diary pages, the rest of the paper tumbling out with them in my haste. I shuffled through them to find the most recent entry, then folded the others up and stuffed them back into my bag. I didn't want to lose them, after all.

Oh, okay. Not bound to the box file; bound to the information inside it. Like that made any difference.

Still, I rifled through the pages, looking for something out of the ordinary. It was only when I reached the map that I saw anything to give me a reason to pause. It was tiny, really – in that little square between the ends of the arrows on the compass rose. I shone the torch directly on the spot, til the old paper gleamed.

It was the little Epsilon sign. The half-feather. Only, it was different. It had something entwined around it. I peered closer; the page only a few inches from my nose.

There, in miniscule, exquisite detail, were little chain links, winding their way around the symbol. I knew for a fact that neither me nor Sebastian had drawn that. Epsilon wouldn't have, either, unless he was leaving it as a clue for me.

But what was I meant to do with a bit of ink on old paper?

It occurred to me then, in the back of my mind so that I didn't really take any notice of it, that all of these clues were...I don't know, easier? Than the ones before. Easier, and more literal. Different.

But the thought slipped away in the face of this newest frustration.

I don't know why I did it. Maybe just in a desperate attempt to get more information, or to feel like I was doing _something_, I don't know.

I touched the symbol on the map.

I had very little warning. A sudden, undeniable dizziness that told me, without a doubt, that I was about to pass out.

Already less than half senseless, I dropped the map into the box file and grabbed the rim, my free hand latching onto my backpack as I dropped towards the floor. I only dimly remember noticing that I'd dropped the torch. That sparked the smallest sheen of fear. I'd lost my light. It felt like the only light in the world.

Then I fell to the floor and kept on falling and was gone.

When I woke up, it took me a while to realise I had. There was no light on the back of my eyelids to announce my regained consciousness, nor was there any light when I opened my eyes. It was darker than any of the caves I'd been in on Lume. It was more than simply dark; there was an utter absence of light that instantly made my heart pound. It was the sound of my own heart that finally convinced me I was conscious.

I could still feel my rucksack, and the rough edge of the box file, clenched in my hands as I sat up. Wherever I was – definitely _not_ the cottage – I'd brought them with me.

I didn't seem to be sitting on anything. I guess it was solid, but when I slung my backpack onto my back (no way was I letting go of that in the dark!) to free up one of my hands and touched the floor, I couldn't identify what kind of surface it was. Smooth? Rough? Cold? Hot? Manmade? Natural? I couldn't tell. I don't even know if I touched the floor, or if my hand just...went through it.

Oh, god. Where am I?

I felt like I was in a large space. I didn't feel closed in or claustrophobic, anyway. There was just a sense of being in the open.

I didn't like that feeling of exposure. I wanted to be close to something solid; if only to know that I couldn't be attacked from that direction.

Unbidden, an image of Cimul slowly edging his way out of the stone wall popped into my head. Okay, so walls were just as dangerous as open air.

If only I could _see_, I wouldn't be so scared!

I drew in a shaky breath. It seemed very loud. I realised that, other than my breathing and my heart racing, I couldn't hear anything. It was as if there was nothing living here to make a noise.

But there had to be. I'd come here looking for Epsilon, so he must be here, right? I should look for him, or a way out of this place.

I couldn't move. Not because something had grabbed me; not because I was chained in place. My body refused to move because I was scared stiff of moving out into that nothingness. There was a train of barely rational thought that this was the place I'd arrived in when I came here from the cottage, so this was the place I had to leave from and I didn't want to lose this exact spot.

But I had to find Epsilon.

In this apparently empty place, any sound was loud. So wouldn't he be able to hear me, if I shouted?

I shied away from the idea of making any sort of loud noise here, but bit my tongue to stop all of my resolve running away. It was either that or I get up and walk around to find him, which I definitely wasn't going to do.

So I hugged my backpack and the box file close to me for comfort and opened my mouth. A dry little rasp came out instead of a shout.

I shook my head in disgust, swallowed hard. I've always had a big mouth – even Epsilon noticed that – so now it was time to make good use of it.

I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, then another, and yelled.

"_EPSILON!"_

There were no echoes. This place must be huge, for my shout to not even reach the walls. I waited, frozen in place, listening for any sound of him or – please, no – a Dark Being approaching. There was none.

Okay, try again.

"_EPSILON!"_

What if this place was so big that he couldn't hear me? No, he had to. He had to hear me!

"_EPSILON!"_

Was that a sound? I froze, holding my breath so that there were no distractions; no false hopes.

"Jess?"

It was faint, but definite. And definitely Epsilon!

"Epsilon! Over here!" I hoped he could find me in this darkness. I know I'd struggle, just using someone's voice.

"How did you get here?" His voice was closer now – coming from my right. I spun, and saw the faintest silver light, getting larger as it came towards me.

Then what he'd said registered fully. I frowned, confused.

"I...followed your clues. I got to the box file, and saw your symbol and the chains on the map. I touched it, then passed out, I guess. I woke up here."

We were both quiet. Epsilon must have seen me, because he continued heading directly for me, even though I wasn't making a sound. I could see him now; still in his warriors clothes. That didn't draw my attention, however. His face did. He was frowning.

He reached me, knelt down next to me and immediately went to the box file. The map had fallen to the side of the others; he lifted it out, examined it.

"Epsilon? What's the matter?" Finding him had banished my fear, made me feel hopeful. Now I could feel terror slowly snaking back in; coiling around my stomach and contracting my heart, out of rhythm. "Epsilon, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

He finally lifted his strange eyes from the map. A shock ran down my spine. His eyes looked sorrowful; defeated.

"Oh, Jess. What have you done?"


	9. Chapter 8

Hey guys, sorry for the long wait! I was doing my A-levels and they pretty much took over my life for a while. Then, when I decided to finish this chap and upload it, I turn on my laptop...and the internet connection is broke. That was last night, so I've had to leave posting this thing til today. Anyway, it's here - slightly shorter than the last chapter, but it's more of a lead-up than anything else. Also, I'd like to draw your attention to a Riddles of Epsilon oneshot I've done called So Cold, if you haven't read it already (shameless self advertising, I know). It might make the wait between this chapter and the next seem a little shorter :P Right, I'll say no more (other than the **disclaimer: nothing belongs to me!**) and let you enjoy chapter 8!

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**Trapped**

I froze, not sure how to respond. What did he mean?

"I-I did what-the clues...here, look!" I grabbed my backpack, rifled through it to find the notes he'd left me; and the diary pages with the other clues, from the book and the cave. I tugged them all out and handed them to him, noticing distractedly that odd silver after-gleam he left on anything he touched as his fingers met the paper.

He was utterly silent as he read my scruffy writing, and his expression remained grave. In that oppressive quiet, I looked around, to resist the urge to start babbling out explanations and questions. By the faint light he gave off, I could see a small way around us. Not that there was anything to see. Just darkness. At a loss, I looked at the ground, certain that it, at least, would be illuminated.

We were sitting in a void. That's how it appeared – I couldn't make out any detail about what we were supported by. Okay, maybe Epsilon didn't need the support of a ground, but I did, and I couldn't see anything that remotely resembled a solid surface. It was just black. Like a night sky devoid of the moon, stars or planets.

All the warmth in my body left me; all the stability. I felt that if I stood up now, I'd only collapse on useless legs. I couldn't keep quiet any more. I had to know.

"Where are we?" My voice came out softer than I'd anticipated; almost giving way. Epsilon didn't respond; his eyes didn't even flicker from the page.

Suddenly, my panic was flooding up my throat, and my voice was louder. Shrill. Terrified.

"Epsilon, _tell me where we are!_" I was shaking, I realised, huddled in on myself to try and draw some scant comfort, since my surroundings had none to offer.

He looked up from the papers, and it seemed to take him a moment to realise why I'd shouted. For the first time in a long time I was reminded – truly reminded – that Epsilon wasn't human, wasn't subject to our laws, our physics, or our emotions. He felt, certainly, but maybe not to the same extent as us. For that moment, I could see he just didn't understand my fear. His eyes were blank. Then they cleared and softened in sympathy, though he didn't lose that air of quiet despair.

"We are both everywhere and nowhere. It's endless, but also a singularity. It can be a place of confinement, as it is for us, or it can be a place for freedom and thought. This place isn't of your world, Jess." As ever, Epsilon was being cryptic, yet this time I felt it was the only way to describe this place we were in.

"Is it of your world, then?" I asked, my voice dropping back to a dismal whisper. He offered up a small shake of his head in return.

"Not mine. The Dark Beings', perhaps."

I got the feeling he was trying not to push me over the edge into hysteria – he was keeping his voice subdued but, somehow, comforting. It helped, if only a little.

I took another shaky breath and held it, steeling myself. I spoke as I released it to the nothingness beyond us.

"What did I do wrong?"

Epsilon returned his crystalline eyes back to the wood pulp and ink in his hand for a moment, as if collecting sombre thoughts, then began to speak, still addressing the paper.

"Did you read the notes I left you, Jess?" I thought back, then shook my head mutely. I'd gotten too caught up in the 'at lyrics start and lyrics end' clue – forgotten about the few pages of notes from his desk entirely.

He nodded, as if this affirmed his suspicions. "The only other of these 'clues' that I left you was that which led to the book of songs. But it was not a clue, Jess. It was a warning."

I stared at him, my brain a great buzzing blank, then spoke before my mind had caught up with my mouth.

"A warning...? Of what? And– but...what were those other clues then? The one carved into the wall in the cave? Your note told me to go down the well; to find it! I-" I stopped short. He'd held up a hand for quiet, his eyes sharp with understanding, but still not losing that calming gentleness. The man was a paradox.

"A warning to prevent you from acting exactly how you did. Do you remember when I told you that I am not the only one who can see you?" I gave another nod, and with it felt the rapid onset of apprehension – and the slow dawning of comprehension. "These messages you received were left by a follower of Cimul; to make you do the opposite of what you should have done. They were intended to deceive, and erode the trust you had in them. And they possibly had another purpose, one I have not yet discerned." He held up my diary pages. He was already half way through them, even though I'd left him to read them for only a few scarce minutes.

Catching the implication, I nodded and vowed myself to silence until he had finished reading.

It didn't take him long. He looked up after another minute, the edges of the last page shimmering with the tell-tale gleam of his touch. He looked, for the first time, tired. The beaten cast has crept back into his expression.

"When you followed the literal instructions in the warning I tried to give you, you triggered three events. The first, you caused Cimul's body to be wrought anew on the Ouroborus stone, the second, your blood was taken by Cimul – which was, what you would call his soul, if he can be said to have one – trapped in the stone of the Miradel. The third, you led him to an exit. If Cimul's soul, or spirit, can reach the physical body awaiting him above ground, your blood will act as a catalyst to bind soul to body. Cimul will be as real as he was during his mortal life as King L'Ume's beloved prince."

I stared, again, panic making my eyes round and hunching me forward, as if to reach out and shake him to make him understand.

"But, Epsilon, he's had a whole night and day to get there! He must have already-" I stopped again; Epsilon was waving me to silence.

"Though a spirit has no physical weight; a solid shell of stone does. When he fell, after you severed the rope, he could have damaged the shell; fractured it. He would need time to fix the pieces, and besides; he wouldn't dare traverse the island in daylight. Stone can be broken, and the villagers would not stand for something as monstrous as he to freely walk their land; not whilst they still have their own minds. He will wait until night, of that I am almost certain. He may yet be separated from his body."

I certainly hope so. But what difference does it make? The only people who could have done something to stop him were trapped here. Outside of me and Epsilon, only Mum knew what was going on – and only partially at that. Besides, I doubted she could do anything against Cimul – he terrified her, more than anyone else. Even if Cimul wasn't reunited with his body, he would be soon.

"We can't get out of here, can we?" I asked, subdued. I knew now why Epsilon seemed so beaten. He was. His weary nod only affirmed it.

"We would need some sort of physical link to Earth; to your time. Something not of your world, so that it would form a bridge, but nevertheless inhabiting it at the time we need arrive at."

I frowned.

"Wouldn't your notes do?" I asked, gesturing at his own pages of musings, now lying – or floating – next to him at the non-existent ground level.

He shook his head, however, with an oddly bitter smile.

"It is not that simple, Jess. Bright Being I may be, but paper and ink is just that, no matter who uses it."

I sighed in reluctant acceptance, gazing off into the space, unseeing even if we weren't blinded by the darkness. Something he'd said niggled at my mind though, wouldn't leave me alone.

Acting on this insistent instinct, I turned to my backpack and started rummaging through it, though with little hope. I'd not brought anything special with me. Torch, notes, batteries, knife. I didn't really need such a big bag, really. I sat back, discouraged, only to feel something digging into my leg. I shifted, just thinking it was an awkward fold in my jeans pocket – it was that small – but it didn't move.

Frowning, I dug my hand into my pocket.

And pulled out the Ouroborus charm.

I gaped at it, uncomprehending for a moment. I'd intended to throw it away on my way to the cottage, but I'd stuffed it in my pocket and forgotten all about it in my nerves.

Still, it was just a metal charm. Like paper and ink. Linked to Lume, but man-made. It was useless.

Disappointment of that magnitude is hard to stifle. I was torn between throwing the blasted thing into the darkness, where it belonged, and curling up into a ball and crying. I compromised, slumping and hiding my head in my hands, raking my fingers through my hair in sheer frustration. My hands slid down again, kneading my forehead. I opened the hand that held the charm so that I could press the heel of my hand into my brow – just an unconscious gesture of helpless, pointless thought.

My open hand pressed against my skull, the little ring of a charm digging into my forehead, the metal already warm from my hands.

I felt it move.

I jumped, jerking upright. Epsilon looked up at me from the pages he still held. I could only guess he was trying to puzzle out an escape for us from some remote writing of his. I ignored him, staring at the charm in my hand.

It was perfectly still, innocuous. A little ring, tiny on my palm, no bigger than my nose ring. Just as smooth, as blank.

Wait.

I brought it up almost to my nose to examine it; turning it over in my hands. There was no Ouroborus, no markings whatsoever. It was a full circle now – complete and unblemished.

"E-Epsilon?" I stammered, clueless to what had just happened except that this ring was not normal.

He focused on the ring, comprehension sharpening his gaze. "Let me see it." He commanded, moving closer to look at the little ornament in my hand. I held it out mutely; he gently took the proffered ring, turning it over as I had. His fingers felt odd – as though sheathed in cool water. Insubstantial, but with a solid core that held him together.

"This is the Ouroborus ring you described in your diary?" He asked, though his tone told me he had already guessed the truth. I nodded. "What did you do to change it? What, exactly, did you do?" He was more animated than I'd seen him since the fight in the cottage – and this wasn't the deadly focus of a warrior. This was dangerously, daringly close to hope.

I took the ring back, bewildered. What had I done?

"I...I dunno what I did. I felt it digging me in the leg and thought it might get us out, but remembered what you'd said about the paper – I thought it'd be the same for this. I was just so frustrated and angry that we'd _solved_this and couldn't do a damn thing about it..." I trailed off; staring at the ring, took it back then reinacted what I'd done. It was remarkably hard to try and remember an inconsequential movement, even if you'd only made it seconds before, but I had more incentive than anybody to remember.

"It was...here. On my forehead. I felt it move, and when I looked at it, the Ouroborus was gone," I looked at Epsilon past my arm, still holding the ring to my brow. Under other circumstances, I would have felt like a right idiot sitting like that, but the thought just didn't enter my head.

Epsilon gently nudged my arm out of the way, stared at my forehead with disconcerting focus with his strange eyes. Then, slowly, as if wary of spooking a wild animal, he delicately touched the dead centre of my forehead with his cool fingers.

I nearly leapt a foot in the air – a silver-white flash had sparked from the point of contact, accompanied by the shadow of a memory of wild music.

All at once, I understood – and remembered with perfect clarity.

"Agapetos!" I blurted out, pointing wildly to my head, nearly jumping with excitement. We were both on our feet; the flash had made us both jump up. "Agapetos' blood! And the _ring_..." I trailed off, looked around frantically and spied the ring lying patiently next to my bag where I'd dropped it in my shock. I dove for it, snatching it up and looking at it with fresh eyes.

It could be a trap. It could easily be a trap, except for one thing. I just couldn't see a Dark Being tolerating the O, even if it was a disguise. Even Cimul, as Yolandë, had worn the Ouroborus rather than the O, even when trying to trick Mum. Yet Epsilon allowed the Ouroborus in his cottage, even though it was hidden. And besides, why shouldn't Agapetos, or another Bright Being, be able to plant the disguised ring for Avril to find? After all, if it has just been some plain ring, she wouldn't have taken any notice of it; wouldn't have thought of giving it to me. This way, the ring got to where it needed to be.

I was certain. This was no trap.

"Could this be it?" I demanded, holding it up so Epsilon could see it too. "Could this make our bridge home?" I wasn't scared anymore – adrenaline had chased it away. I felt like a living drum – my heart beat pounding through me, making me ready to move. We still had a chance – we had to have.

Epsilon was smiling, a quiet look of wonder lingering in his eyes. I realised that Epsilon didn't really know that much about the one he worked for – not enough to know everything he had planned. And maybe that was necessary – it was like Epsilon often said. We were only fed pieces of the puzzle, bit by bit, never getting the whole puzzle at once in case others were watching. Agapetos had to leave us to figure it out ourselves – but he never abandoned us; he never gave us an impossible task. Like Epsilon never gave me one.

"This is it," He confirmed, and then had to listen to my exuberant yelling as I jumped and punched the air, the ring safely clutched in my closed hand.

"Hurry, Jess!" Epsilon reminded me, and I shut up immediately, though I didn't calm down. From his single nod, I dove to gather my things, stuffing them haphazardly into bag or box. A last glance around told me I'd not forgotten anything. I slung my backpack on, picked the box up under one arm, holding the ring in my free hand.

"So, how does this work?" I asked as I handed the little circle of silver over.

Epsilon held it up at eye-level, a look of deep thought on his face.

"That is like asking how the universe truly began – unanswerable. Though you have a vague idea..." He carefully dropped his hand, leaving the ring suspended in the air before us. I gawped at it, stared at Epsilon's definitely empty hand, then back at the gravity-defying ring.

"What the...?" I attempted and failed to articulate my confusion. He just smiled, a look that matched the feeling of fondness I'd always felt when he, disembodied though he had been, laughed.

"...you could not really say for certain. As you do not understand the workings of your world, nor do I understand the workings of this one. I only know that it follows rules that I am accustomed to, though again I do not know exactly how the rules themselves work."

I paused, trying to make sense of what he'd just said.

"Well, thanks for clearing that up," I settled for eventually, giving in. No way was I going to wrap my head around his cryptic nonsense any time soon, especially when he so much as hinted at science.

He spared an amused glance in my direction.

"Though I know not _what_ I do, be assured that I know _how_ to do it." That made one of us. I just nodded to show I trusted him to get us out of here.

It was just as Epsilon reached out to the ring again, not quite touching it, taking a shallow breath as if to speak, that I heard something. Just a faint shuffling.

We both froze.

I rolled my eyes around my whole field of vision, but saw nothing. Epsilon didn't even move that much – I don't know if he was listening for something or what, but not one muscle – if he has real muscles – twitched in those few tense seconds.

Another soft rustle, almost like fabric, but even softer. Like fur brushing fur. Or feathers.

Feathers.

Epsilon moved, just a flicker of his eyes, at my deep breath in. There was no surprise in his eyes; he must have already figured it out. We had wardens in this blank prison of ours.

A sudden, sibilant hiss from right behind us sent a ripple of shock across my scalp and down my spine, raising every hair.

Epsilon spun, a sword already drawn and slitting the air.

There was an outraged shriek as I whirled to follow the action, but our jailor had retreated beyond the reach of Epsilon's light.

"Did you hit it?" I asked, hearing panic stretching my voice taut. He gave a single shake of his head, once again utterly focused. We stood like that for maybe thirty seconds, with nothing happening. Slowly, not relaxing, Epsilon once again reached out to the ring. Another warning hiss sounded out. Behind me, facing Epsilon. He made a slight gesture, a tiny twitch of his fingers to move behind him.

I was tempted to do what he said; run behind him and hide. But we could do that forever and never get out.

I tilted my head, twice. First one side, then the other. No. Epsilon fixed me with his cold eyes, a silent order to move. I set my jaw and stayed put.

Stalemate. The swan – what else? – wouldn't attack unless we attempted to use the ring. Epsilon wouldn't antagonise it whilst I was in the way. I wouldn't move out of the way.

Knowing I would probably regret it, I bit my tongue and forced the game onwards.

I reached my hand out and touched the ring.

The swan hissed like a hot coal meeting water, and I heard a rush of wings.

I could see Epsilon lunging, trying to get around me before the beast hit. My body knew he wouldn't make it before my mind had registered what it planned to do next.

My pack was only resting on one shoulder. I grabbed the strap and swung, whirling it off my shoulder and around like a throwing hammer.

My bag didn't have much in it, but it was still big enough to knock the swan off-course, and right into Epsilon's range. Faster than a pouncing cat, he leapt forward and met white feathers with sharp metal. The swan screeched and dissipated into the darkness, now a part of its own black world.

I looked up from the ground (I'd fallen on my butt after my wild swing) and met Epsilon's eyes with the worry I'd not shown before. He didn't say anything, just looked at me, unblinking.

"Sorry," I mumbled, starting to get up. I heard a quiet sigh, slightly impatient, and then his hand was under my elbow, helping me up.

"Reckless," He chided. I think he meant it to sound biting, but there was a definite veil of relief cast over that one word. I was just happy that a) we were alive, and b) that was all the scolding I would get. Hopefully.

"There'd better not be any more of those swans about," I muttered nervously, sending wary glances around us into the surrounding darkness. Of course, I couldn't see anything.

"You still have your bag, do you not? If there are, surely you can use it again. It was rather effective." Oh, he had to rib me about it, didn't he? I glared at him, my bag half on my shoulder.

"I'll swing it at you in a minute," I muttered under my breath. I shouldn't have bothered – he heard me anyway.

"In this place, a 'minute' does not exist. Not as you understand it, anyway."

Did he _have_ to have a comeback for everything?

Since I couldn't argue my way out of that one, I shook my bag at him, bluffing. He just smiled and reached for the ring again. This time, no swans came flapping out of the dark to stop him.

I don't know why we felt comfortable enough to be joking, of all things, in this situation. I felt giddy. I think it was from the adrenaline of the encounter with the swan, along with the almost unbearable impatience to get back home. Maybe we both knew that this would be the last moment of calm we would have until this was over. I don't know. I just know that it kept me calm; kept me sane.

As before, his fingertips stopped millimetres shy of the metal. He spoke softly, in a strange language that I couldn't quite make out; as if my ears were suddenly fuzzy. I frowned and strained to make out the words, before I realised that this was no human language. I'm no expert on languages, obviously, but there was something completely...alien about it. It held no resemblance to any language on Earth, of that I was somehow utterly certain.

Could this be spoken Lumic? It occurred to me that I had never heard it before; I'd only seen it in writing.

Then the quiet murmurings came to an end, and it was like touching the ink symbol, only inverted. I was aware of passing out, but it was like slowly drifting away, not a sudden unconsciousness. And instead of fading to black, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was white.


	10. Chapter 9

Hey everyone. I apologise for the wait, again, but this is fairly regular now so I guess you're used to it. I have been busy, with college, a cosplay convention I had to prepare for, being ill, and laptop problems, but finally chapter nine is here! It is (comparatively) short, at just under 2,500 words, but I'm hoping the content makes up for its length. I can confirm that we're solidly in the climax now; I'd guess there's only another two or three chapters before I finish 'To Riddle Alone'. I hope you've enjoyed it so far, and I hope you stick with me til the end. As ever, feedback is appreciated. With that, I'll let you get on to chapter nine!

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Riddles of Epsilon characters or settings, I just borrow them temporarily.**

* * *

It was still dark when I woke up, but it was a normal dark. Night time dark. The wooden ceiling above me was familiar, as was the ever-present barrier of heat that told me immediately I was back in the bedroom of the cottage. When I sat up, dragging backpack and box file with me, I saw that Epsilon was already standing and gazing out of the broken window, out towards our land, and the Ouroborus stone. Looking at him, you wouldn't think he'd left.

"Cimul is above ground," He said, without looking back at me. He couldn't have seen Cimul; the trees blocked the view completely. I could only guess he was doing his watching-from-afar thing to keep track of Cimul. I nodded. As soon as I stood, Epsilon turned from the window and headed for the stairs. I left the box file in the room and pulled my bag fully onto my back so I could move quickly. Call it gut instinct, a premonition, whatever you like, but I had a feeling we'd be doing a lot of running, and I wanted my arms free to move.

The interior of the cottage was pitch black; I had to rely on the dim silver light Epsilon gave off to see the floor and avoid tripping over any scattered wreckage from the fight. It was only then that I realised Epsilon was only semi-corporeal again; no longer the solid warrior from the cavern.

Once outside, it was easier to see. The moon was a few nights away from full, and the sky was clear. It couldn't have been more than an hour since I'd entered the cottage. Weird. It had seemed like so much longer...but then again, Epsilon had said time didn't exist in that place, so I guess it could have seemed like ages and only been a short amount of time in our world.

I didn't have the time to think about all this then; as soon as we were out of the cottage door Epsilon started to run. Well, it looked like running, but his legs were so faint you couldn't say they touched the ground. Either way, he moved much quicker, and _I_ had to run to keep up, Epsilon urging me to move faster with every step I took until I was running full pelt towards the Big House.

We shot past the lit windows, but rather than turning South East to the Ouroborus Stone, Epsilon went South West.

"Where are we going?" I managed to gasp around the stitch in my side. I may have been in better shape than two years ago, but I was by no means athletic enough to run around the whole island and not get out of breath. Epsilon didn't even have the decency to pretend to be tired. He glanced at me as he responded, before turning his eyes forward again, the silvery facets distant.

"Cimul followed the underground tunnels after he had recovered from the fall – he's exited at the well in the Village, by the graveyard. I intend to cut him off before he reaches your land."

Oh, he _had_ to mention the graveyard, didn't he? The newer areas were really nice, but the older parts were creepy even in daylight. It was the last place I wanted to run into some ancient demonic creature with a grudge against me.

"Graveyard. Great. Thanks for making me feel better!" I groaned, dragging another ounce of effort out of my muscles as we sped towards the town. My eyes kept jumping from shadow to shadow, expecting to see the stone body of Cimul stirring in the darkness of each one.

A shadow without a source, darting through the grass towards us.

"Keep going," With that order, Epsilon shot forward to meet it, sword drawn. The dark shape jerked, fleeing away to the right with Epsilon running parallel to it. As I turned, I heard the first ring of steel. He was fighting. I could only hope he would be more careful than the last time he'd fought something like that as I continued towards the lights of the town, acutely aware that should I run into Cimul now, I had no one to protect me.

Looking towards the village, I failed to notice what was in front of my feet. I ran pull-pelt into something hard and tripped over it, sprawling on the ground with scrapes of dirt on my hands and chin where it had slammed into the soil.

Cursing the chunk of rock that had tripped me up, I only realised it was moving when it grabbed my leg.

Suddenly dragged backwards, I screamed and struggled to roll onto my back to look at whatever had hold of me. I shouldn't have even needed to look, really. There was only one thing – one person – it could be.

Cimul had caught me.

I'd never even thought he would be so far ahead of us to be able to trap us like that – distract Epsilon, letting Cimul take care of me himself. I guess I must have hacked him off more than I realised. Of course, by the time Epsilon realised what had happened, Cimul would have dealt with me, and as powerful as Epsilon is, I think Cimul might be stronger. With us out of the way, there'd be no one to stop him from coming back.

Of course, I wasn't going to lie still and _let _him kill me.

Cimul was crouched on the ground – he must have been lying flat for me not to have seen him – one arm partially extended to grab my ankle. My only consolation was that he was still stone; though that presented a problem, one I realised when I lashed out with my free leg, kicking him in the face.

Hitting him hurt me more than it hurt him. It literally felt as though I'd stamped on an uneven slab of rock.

As I yowled in agony, I caught a glimpse of his face. The moon provided me with enough light to see the curve of his remaining canine. He was smiling.

Without thinking, acting on pure anger, fear and frustration, I kicked out again, ignoring the pain already throbbing in my foot. There was a dull thud, a sharp crack, and a bellow of agony as the grasp around my leg vanished.

Scrabbling backwards, out of reach, I looked at the Lord of Inversion as his hands swept upwards to his mouth, that terrifying shriek still emitting from the dark space. On the ground by his knee lay a smooth, sharp spire of stone.

His other canine tooth. The base of it must have been slim enough for my kick to break it.

I felt a momentary flare of victory in my chest, one that cooled rapidly into fear when Cimul looked back at me, his low keening dying away.

It was his eyes. His empty stone eyes which were full of pure malice. No; more than that. Hate. He hated me, and he was going to kill me.

I ran, slipping out of reach as he lunged at me, his long nails hooked into talons built to tear me apart.

The lights of the village were to my right; I started to turn towards them only to shy away from the fleet black shape that separated me from the hope of safety. Cimul had given chase.

Frantic, I sprinted onwards, ransacking my memory for somewhere I could lose him.

The only place I could think of was Lume Lake. With his heavy stone body, Cimul couldn't swim. That was why he'd run around the pool in the tunnels.

My half-plan in mind, I angled towards the lake, pouring every last reserve of energy into my aching legs to keep myself ahead of the monster following me. Though he was far faster than when he'd been trapped in the wall, he was still slower than what he would be with a body of flesh and blood. I just hoped he would be too slow to catch me, and that I could outlast him, at least til I reached the lake.

I don't know where Epsilon was, or why he hadn't caught up yet. Maybe he'd been captured again? Either way, he wasn't here. He couldn't help me. I had to try and save myself.

In those panicked minutes between the village and the lake, I managed to stay just out of grabbing distance. I don't know how close Cimul was, but I could hear his low snarls, and the steady, untiring pound of his feet on the earth.

When I reached the shore of the lake, I think I'd had a vague plan of getting into the water and swimming out of reach should he wade in after me. I don't know. My only solid plan had been to get to the lake and lose him – somehow. But when he realised where we were, he must have guessed at my idea because he was suddenly right next to me, driving me away from the lake, towards the Crags.

Without a choice, I ran up the incline, scrambling up the steeper areas, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling at every scrape of stone on stone that came from the hunter behind me.

The Crags peak at Crag Point, facing the south of the island, overlooking the lake. On the map it looks like it's a small distance from the lake, but when you're at the top, looking down, you realise the furthest north-facing point actually juts out over the lake. That was where Cimul cornered me.

By the time I'd realised I'd reached the narrowest point of the Crags; Cimul had caught up and blocked the way back to the path down.

His mouth was open in a vicious smile; a moonlight revealed thick black liquid – blood? Could his spirit bleed? – coating his lips and chin; stemming from the gaping hole where his most recently lost canine should have been. The sight made me feel sick in a way fear hadn't. Desperately, I found myself shooting glances over his shoulder; hoping fruitlessly that I'd see Epsilon appear behind him. The treacherous stone path remained empty; suddenly darkening. A panicked glance up at the moon showed heavy clouds sweeping across to smother its silver light.

I had to strain my eyes just to see Cimul now. Not being able to see him approaching scared me more than anything else. Then I heard a soft click; of stone on stone. I may not be able to see him properly, but I would always be warned if he stepped towards me. I'd hear him coming.

Another, then his sibilant voice, saturated with triumph. He was getting closer.

"Once I am restored, your family will be the first to die. The loyal will rule over this place; the villagers forced to choose, as they did long ago. My followers will live. Those who refuse to turn will be thrown to the sea. _Nothing_ will be left of L'Ume's rule and the eagle will be driven out, exiled as I was!" So that was it. Cimul was sick of being Prince. He wanted to rule – or misrule. He had nothing but spite and hate left; the worst of which was directed at me and my family, for stopping him. Still, I had to be sure. I licked my dry lips, hoped my voice wouldn't fail me. It didn't.

"So what about me then? I screwed your plan up two years ago, didn't I? All those centuries of searching; of manipulating those women into doing your work; and I tore it all down in a matter of days. Who's to say I won't do it again, Cimul?" Yes, I was being reckless. I was raising my voice, refusing to look intimidated. It was all a mask, to hide the fear. Delaying tactics, hoping Epsilon would reach me on time. If I could keep him talking, I would postpone my own death for a few more precious minutes. It's strange, how when you're faced with dying, each second alive feels like a victory. My heart was pounding heavily; as if it was expanding further than usual before crushing inwards, making seem like each contraction more pronounced. There was a sharp prickling in the centre of my forehead, on the skin. Agapetos...?

Cimul stopped, an ugly hiss emanating from between his drawn-back stone lips. I'd angered him.

"You die tonight, _Jessica_. Humans cannot act from beyond the grave." He sounded as if he was trying to claw smugness from somewhere, but was too irate to do so. At least he'd responded rather than simply tearing me apart. Besides, I knew how wrong he was.

"What about Sebastian then? Sebastian Wren; Martha's little boy. He helped stop you, just as much as I did. Yet he's been dead for two decades! And it was his diary from practically a century ago that helped me, so if that isn't help after dying, I don't know what is!" Epsilon, please, please hear me shouting. My hysteria was starting to show, my composure cracking. A wild giggle escaped me. By his snarl, it seemed to make the monster of stone even more furious. "You're wrong, Cimul. Wrong and bitter and twisted, and no matter how many people you kill, you will always be waiting for that one person who will piece together the clues and stop you again, whether it's in a year, a decade or a century, because time _does not matter!_ You know why?"

He took a quick step towards me; I heard the clash of rock.

"Silence!" He spat. He couldn't stop me. Not now. I was too out of control.

"Because time is nothing to Agapetos, and he will always, _always_ stop you!"

His screech of fury was wordless. I heard stone scratching, and a rush of air. A glimmer of moonlight burst through the clouds, illuminating him, mid-leap.

I dove to the side, praying the ledge of stone would hold.

It held, but it didn't matter. Cimul grabbed me even as he fell past me, dragging me off balance.

With his momentum out of control and me having no real purchase on the ground, what happened next was inevitable.

Scrabbling and screaming, Cimul pulled me over the ledge and into open air.

We plunged into the lake.


	11. Chapter 10

Hey guys, if any of you are still reading this after...uh...nearly four months. I'm sorry! But, my exams are finally over, which means I can update (and finish!) this rather neglected fic. I do also blame a slight Dragon Age II obsession (okay, I blame myself. But yeah). Anyway, this is the second-or-third to last chapter, depending on how much happens in the next one, and if it acts as an epilogue or not. I also plan to go back and edit the earlier chapters of this, just to tidy them up and generally improve them (I know the chatroom bit can do with a lot of attention). As ever, I hope you enjoy this, and that the characters are still in character (I hope they are) and don't hesitate to tell me if I've made any goofs anywhere. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: All characters and locations belong to Christine Morton-Shaw.**

* * *

I'd had enough presence of mind to draw a last breath before slamming into the water, but that vital lungful of air was nearly punched out of me by the force of hitting the water.

I was deaf with the pressure of the water on my ears, blind with the dark water, numb from the cold, all sense of smell and taste eradicated as I held my breath and locked my teeth and lips together against the encompassing water that wanted to kill me. All I could feel was fear; and the prison of the Lord of Inversion's grasp.

Mindlessly, I kicked; trying to attain the surface that was rapidly receding from me. The grip of granite around my waist and chest stopped me; Cimul trapped me against his stone body, one rough forearm pressed against my sternum as his talon-tipped hand tightened around my throat. Drowning me wasn't enough. He wanted to crush the life out of me himself.

My thrashing legs smacked against his; bone cracking against stone.

Gasps of air rushed through my clenched teeth as I fought not to scream in pain; only partially succeeding. My hands scrabbled uselessly at his wrist; I forced them to stop and tried to claw us both towards air; my backpack weighing down my thrashing right arm. I didn't even slow our descent.

'_Pleasepleasepleaseplease,'_

The agony in my chest built inexorably; a carpet of searing needles coating the insides of my starved lungs. My body's every instinct screamed at me to just _breathe_ as grey dots started to bloom at the edges of my vision, followed by an inescapable wave of darkness that narrowed my vision to a dim, blurred circle.

'_Epsilon, help me!'_ I thought what I couldn't scream as my body bucked against its lack of air. I could feel pinpricks of pain on my throat where Cimul's talons punctured my skin. The pain was drowned out by the suffocating pressure in my chest.

'_Epsilon, Agapetos...help.'_

Far above, the refracting light of the moon on the water shattered; ripples fleeing outwards as a storm of bubbles surrounded the diving figure.

The moonlight followed it down; lighting the figure's silhouette from within. Epsilon.

Too late.

Desperation overrode my survival instinct, drove my locked jaws apart; water rushed to fill my lungs.

I writhed in unimaginable agony, and felt the iron grip around me ease as Cimul freed himself from my deadweight in order to counter Epsilon.

As I submerged beneath the black waves around my vision, wanting only relief from the acid burning my lungs, I saw a strong, flesh-and-blood hand reaching for me, its fading shape shot through with silver.

Death stopped the pain.

* * *

My throat felt full.

No, my throat _was_ full.

I choked, my unseeing eyes rolling open as I shook with the effort of trying to clear my throat of a lungful of water and vomit, even though I couldn't feel my body to roll over and let gravity help me.

Then the shadows in my eyes moved, and I'd been pulled onto my side, my head flopping brokenly and letting the obstruction in my throat spill out onto the grassy shore; enough strength to support myself rushing back into my body as I gulped air in between retches.

There was an arm wrapped securely around my middle, holding me steady, its opposing hand scraping my hair away from my face. Dimly, I could hear someone murmuring reassuring encouragements.

Shaking, with my heaves slowly abating to pitiful groans and exhausted gasps, I turned my head groggily to the side to see who had pulled me from the lake.

The man was utterly drenched, as you might expect. Young, I guess. Unremarkable, apart from the fact that he'd dove into the lake to save a drowning girl from a vicious stone monster and apparently knew CPR. Something marrow-deep in me knew that I had been dead. When I'd blacked out in the lake, I had been maybe thirty feet from the surface. It would have taken time for this guy to get down to that depth, then swim back up with me in tow. I'd have stopped breathing, I knew.

Remembering the lake, I realised that there was no sign of Epsilon or, thank God, Cimul.

My searching eyes skipped back to the young man, who was peering at me in concern. Behind me, I could hear voices calling. I couldn't focus on them properly, but his eyes flickered to them briefly before going back to me.

"Are you alright? You had me a bit scared there for a minute," He gave a nervous little laugh, which made me think that 'a bit scared' was 'a bit' of an understatement.

I nodded, rasping in my scoured throat.

"Was there anyone else there with me?"

The young man shook his head, and I nodded. I doubted Epsilon could drown anyway. I just hoped Cimul hadn't gotten to him.

"Should there have been?" The man didn't seem too concerned that someone else may have drowned, more like he was whimsically curious than anything else. I looked at him closely, but then the voices approaching cut into my foggy mind and registered as familiar.

I turned just as my Mum skidded to a stop next to me on her knees, grabbing me in a terrified, relieved hug.

"Oh, Jess! We saw you fall from the path! Are you alright?" She drew back, her hands fluttering over my face as through checking for injuries before she hugged me tightly again. Another layer of warmth and comfort enveloped me, as Dad hugged us both. I realised I was trembling with cold and, probably, shock. I could hear Avril just next to them, her warm hands holding one of mine tightly as she babbled in concern. I sent her a quick, reassuring smile through chattering teeth and squeezed her hand back with numb fingers, before shifting my gaze.

From the entanglement of my parents' arms, I looked at the young man. He just gave me a small smile and, for an instant, his pale blue eyes glimmered with silver, refracting from many facets. I smiled in relief and honest joy. Epsilon was alright.

Glancing around, I realised we were on the far bank of Lume Lake; to the right of the Crags. They must have seen me fall from the path leading up to the lake; that was why they had only reached us now.

Felt a wet, unusually warm nose nudging its owner into our group hug as Domino wriggled in for some attention and to lick my face. We all laughed and I hugged my dog, glad of his thick, warm fur and his tolerance of my choke hold.

I heard the sound of brisk footsteps approaching and looked up from my dog's fur as Mrs. Shilling caught up to us. She observed the little scene, her eyes lingering on Epsilon's deceptively normal disguise, then gave one of her disdainful sniffs.

"You could have gotten to the girl _before_ she fell into the lake," She scolded. I gaped at her, trying to stutter apologies to Epsilon and explanations to Mrs. Shilling, but Epsilon just gave another of those shaky laughs and nodded his agreement.

"I saw her up on the Crags, but I didn't expect her to fall into the lake. I would have ran faster if I had," He sounded perfectly apologetic, even as Mum and Dad exclaimed in agreement with him and generally tried to negate what Mrs. Shilling said, but I narrowed my eyes at Epsilon. Somehow, I got the impression that I was being reprimanded, even though his tone had been free of accusation. He just looked at me with that small smile and all-knowing expression of his and didn't comment.

Dad and Avril were asking me questions, wondering what the hell I'd been doing up there so late at night, didn't I know how risky that was, and perhaps I wasn't too old to be grounded after all. That last was my Dad, obviously. Mum just stared at me as though afraid I'd turn to mist and disappear again. My breathing hot water bottle had wormed his way free of me and proceeded to flop into Epsilon's lap quite happily, his tail beating in delight when Epsilon idly scratched behind my huge hound's ears.

With a fond smile, I cut off the interrogation with my own question.

"How did you all know I was here in the first place?"

Avril leapt in to explain.

"I woke up about an hour ago for the loo and realised you weren't in bed, but you weren't in the main bathroom when I went, and were still gone when I got back to the room. I was gonna go look around the house for you when Mrs. Shilling showed up outside the room asking why I was making such a racket at half three in the morning," Here Avril shot my great-aunt a glare that the old woman returned with such expertise that Avril swiftly glanced away and continued her story, silently chastised.

"Anyway, I said you weren't in bed so we both looked for you in the house. By that point your parents had woken up, so we put the lights on and started calling for you, in case we'd missed you," I dimly remembered seeing the lights on in the Big House's windows as Epsilon and I had ran past. I nodded to show I was listening.

"So once we'd finished looking around the house again, we got dressed and went outside. We were on the path towards the lake when your mum saw something or..." Avril trailed off, bemused. Mum took over the tale, seeming a tad mystified herself.

"I'm not sure what it was, but I just felt...something, like I needed to look towards the Crags. I saw a glimmer of light – like the moon reflecting off a mirror. I called your Dad and we started towards it, then we saw you fall," Mum looked pale at the memory, but that could have just been the night draining the colour out of our faces.

Silver. That feeling on my forehead before Cimul lunged for me. Agapetos, giving my family a nudge towards me?

"As we started running, we saw this young man dive in after you," Dad broke me out of my thoughts with a nod to Epsilon, who nodded back and scratched the back of his head, as though uncomfortable with the attention. Give the guy an Oscar, somebody.

"We lost sight of you as we ran around the lake, but he obviously saved you," Dad turned to Epsilon, looking utterly serious. "Thank you. Without your help, my little Jess might have died today," As I groaned in embarrassment – really, what sixteen-year-old wanted to be called _little_ by their parents, no matter who they were talking to? – Epsilon just shook his head and waved a dismissive hand.

"It was nothing, sir. Anyone else would have done the same. I'm just glad she's alright," He shrugged uncomfortably, but with his old, fond smile on his face. Dad didn't seem to notice the familiarity, instead shaking Epsilon's hand (weird, I know. I can't wrap my head around the fact that Dad was quite cheerfully shaking the hand of someone from another dimension or whatever) and starting to cluck over me like his beloved hens, muttering about getting me home.

Unobtrusively, Epsilon nudged Domino off his legs and rose, as though to leave.

"Wait! Uh, sir, wait!" That was Dad, looking flustered as though realising he'd been unintentionally rude. I looked at him, confused, as Epsilon turned; a look of polite enquiry on his face.

"Who are you?" Dad asked as he and mum helped me to stand. Avril paused in offering me a half-joking piggyback in order to eavesdrop. She was the opposite of subtle, I tell you.

Even I quietened, wondering what he'd say. Probably not 'I'm-Epsilon-who-lives-in-the-cottage-on-your-land-that-you-don't-even-know-about-and-who-helps-your-daughter-when-Dark-Beings-are-after-her', but he'd surprised me before.

However, Epsilon just gave one of his enigmatic looks.

"A friend," He said, then turned and faded into the shadows of very early morning. Dad stared after him in bemusement, then started muttering about how the man must have been cold after pulling me out of the lake. Mum looked at me with a delicately raised eyebrow, at which I rolled my eyes and nodded. She understood, as did Mrs. Shilling, from her smug, cat-got-the-canary smile.

Dad had tugged his jacket off and settled it around my shoulders, zipping it up to my chin. Despite the warm summer air, I was still freezing and the thin but warm jacket was welcome.

I fell asleep on our way back to the Big House after vetoing a visit from Doctor Parker. Avril had carried out her threat of a piggyback, with Mum and Dad walking either side of her to make sure I didn't fall off, Dad holding my sodden backpack which Epsilon had dumped next to me after hauling me out of the lake. Domino bounded ahead, happy to have everyone together no doubt. Mrs. Shilling took the lead, ignoring Domino when he veered sharply away from her when he accidentally ran upwind of her.

Amongst much fuss on Mum's part and complaining on mine, I was bundled into a warm bath despite the late – or early – hour, then parcelled into my pyjamas and folded into bed beside Avril. She had strict orders not to let me out of bed unless I needed the bathroom until noon at least. It was mutually agreed that questions and explanations would wait until tomorrow – later today, I mean.

I did better than sleep til noon. I slept non-stop for thirteen hours, waking up wonderfully refreshed, if a bit sore and cotton-mouthed at something past six in the evening.

I blinked slowly, luxuriating in just being able to _rest_, then rolled over to monopolize my huge (by now empty) bed...

And saw Epsilon standing at the foot of it, looking heartily amused.

I think I screamed. Or tried to – all my raw throat produced was a pathetic squeak that definitely didn't travel out of my room and down the stairs to the ears of my family and friend.

Half-sat up, one hand over my heart, I glared weakly at the grinning Being.

"You little-" I was all set to cuss him a blue streak when he laughed, and the simple joy in the sound cut me short. I tried to hold onto my grumpiness, but it quickly evaporated. After a very short battle, I let it and smiled at him instead.

"_Please_ try and give me some warning next time?" I asked plaintively, "I'm going to go prematurely gray otherwise. That'll be another thing Avril can tease me about," God knows, her list was long enough already.

With apparent effort, Epsilon's laughter subsided and he gave me a small bow of acknowledgement.

"I will try, but I cannot promise anything," He said wryly. I narrowed my eyes at him jokingly.

"And why not?" I asked pompously, crossing my arms and lifting my chin.

"Startling you is too amusing an opportunity to forgo, of course," Damn him and his innocent look. It didn't stop me from throwing my pillow at him.

It toppled straight through him in a shimmer of silver.

"Cheat!" I complained. He just laughed again, thoroughly enjoying his advantage.

Bloody Bright Beings. (Hey, alliteration! I'm not hopeless at English after all!)

"So, _why_ are you giving me a heart attack first thing in the morn-er...the second I've woken up?" I corrected myself mid-sentence, noticing the glaring sunshine coming in through my window, and the low sun providing it.

Epsilon's smile was gentler than his teasing grin. It was a look of relief, and pride.

"Cimul is gone, Jess." He said softly, as though he didn't want to shock me. I think my mouth fell open regardless.

"For good?" I finally stammered, hardly daring to believe it. I'd believed it two summers ago. Not now. I needed confirmation.

Epsilon paused, as though thinking over his answer.

"For now," He finally said, then quickly explained when he saw my doubtful, concerned face. "He is trapped in the Lake; unable to move. Unable to leave. He may break free eventually – when the lake bed has built up enough to engulf him. Then he will be able to move the way he did when you were in the cavern; through the earth and rock. But as you saw, his progress as such is extremely slow. It will be centuries, maybe even millennia before he can reach the surface again. You're safe," He said soothingly, and slowly, I felt a grin spread across my face. Safe from Cimul. Safe for life. That sounded unbelievably good.

With a laugh and a sigh, I relaxed back against the headboard of my bed, my eyes closed peacefully for a moment. When I opened them, I saw the old, warm smile on Epsilon's face. He seemed more content than I'd ever seen him.

"Does this mean I can relax and get to sleep in now? And stop throwing up when I'm not ill?" I asked hopefully. He chuckled.

"Don't get complacent, Jess. We still have work to do," He chided, making me sit up straighter and look quizzically at him. More work?

He evidently read the question on my face.

"The way Cimul could have been revived needs to be destroyed, so that even if he does free himself, far into the future, he can never regain his living body." He explained, and with a start I remembered that we had quite a clean-up job on our hands. There was the empty body on the Ouroborus Stone, for starters. That needed to be moved or something. Thrown into the sea, perhaps. We couldn't bury it – that would only put Cimul closer to reviving himself, not further away.

The notes – like 'At lyrics start and lyrics end' I'd leave in the box file, with the rest of my notes and diaries.

The message in the underground well system could stay – that had been left for me, as a trap. It wouldn't even make sense to anyone else, let alone affect them.

The song in the book...again, that had been written centuries ago. To anyone else, it was just a song. I'd take it from the library anyway, just in case, and hide it in the cottage-

"Oh!" Epsilon looked up at my exclamation, curious. "What about your cottage? It was wrecked after that fight, and..." With a prickle of remembered anger, I recalled the scarred walls. "Is it okay, I guess is what I mean," I mumbled, feeling slightly self-conscious about asking if a house was 'okay', but that cottage really was like a person. Alive. Protective when it liked you; almost threatening when it didn't.

Epsilon smiled as though he understood and glanced out of the window, towards his home.

"Come by when your friend has left. I'm sure we can patch it up," He said.

I raised a doubtful eyebrow. The cottage would require more than 'patching up' after being torn apart the way it had. Epsilon just grinned.

"Trust me, ye of little faith," He teased. I mock-frowned and raised my other pillow threateningly, ineffective as it was. He just laughed and held his hands up for peace, then turned his head towards the door as though he'd heard something.

"Don't forget the picture," He added absently as the sound of footsteps clattering up the stairs reached me.

Huh?

"What picture?" I asked, but he was fading out of sight, his laughing eyes the last to go.

"The picture," His voice whispered, before the silver facets blinked and vanished.

Growling, I threw the pillow at the place he'd just occupied right as Avril walked in.

She looked at me oddly, as though evaluating just how much I took after my Grandma Libby.

Damn that Epsilon.

I'm writing this after having a much-needed full English breakfast. Avril's on my laptop (which has migrated back to my room), talking to Baz on our chat room. I've got permission from Epsilon (and orders from Mum) to just relax for the rest of the summer. I will, for the rest of Avril's visit. After that, I'm off to Epsilon's cottage to begin the restoration job.

Huh. It's odd to think that I found that place whilst _escaping_ restoring a house. Now I'm going back, and looking forward to fixing the old thing. How I've changed.

I feel...good, I guess. At a bit of a loss, now that there's no deadly threat around – not that I want one hanging over me! But now that I've got nothing definitive to do, I'm a bit...lost. Kinda like when you've had exams – you spend so much time before them revising, however reluctantly, then you find yourself utterly and completely free in the summer...you kinda feel like there's something you should be doing, even when there isn't. I'll get used to it, anyway.

Hang on, Dad's knocking at the door.

Oh, God. I'd forgotten about that.

He's said we're going to meet him, Mum and Mrs. Shilling downstairs in five minutes. Interrogation time for yesterday.

On reflection, this would be the perfect time for Cimul to pop up again...


	12. Chapter 11

Hey everyone! Here it is, the final chapter of 'To Riddle Alone' after a six week break and...jeez, a year and a half? It really shouldn't have taken me this long, so for that I do apologise.

Anyway, this _is_ the final chapter but if the demand is there, I could write an epilogue, if you, my wonderful readers, feel this fic needs one. I also had two ideas for the 'explaining to parents' scene - I went with this one since I thought it more realistic, but the alternative was, in my mind, more amusing, and it involved Epsilon. I could post the alternate scene, if you like, but that is up to you guys. I've also got an idea for a Sebastian-centric one-shot, which I may write at some point.

I'll stop babbling now, except to thank everyone who read this fic, or reviewed it, and those who after all this time are still with me. You're all stars :) The disclaimer is as usual (**all characters and locations belong to Christine Morton-Shaw**) and with that, enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Perhaps it's a good thing that there are no guys my age here on Lume, and that my chances of getting married before I'm forty are practically non-existent.

No, I'm not suddenly swearing off guys. But I wouldn't half feel sorry for one being introduced to my family and walking into the scene that awaited me when I made my way downstairs.

The three of them (plus Domino lying under the table) were waiting in the kitchen, looking tired and worried. Well, my parents did. Mrs. Shilling was bustling about, cleaning the kitchen counters and sniffing in disapproval at Domino whenever he gazed up at her, hopefully, his tail thudding on the floor in anticipation of a treat.

Mum and Dad looked up when I appeared in the doorway, summoning up smiles and blatantly trying to hide the fact that they'd just been moping into their cups of tea as they thought about how best to interrogate me. Domino turned his canine grin on me and squirmed out from underneath the breakfast table where he'd wedged himself, trotting over and licking my hands, his tail beating a dent in the doorframe. To buy myself some time, I knelt down and gave his ears a good scratch as Avril passed me to sit down.

I kept my head down, babying my dog whilst my brain whirled until Dad called my attention back to the matter at hand – namely, how I'd nearly drowned.

I hadn't told them that I _had_ drowned – I saw no point in worrying them further. As far as anyone other than me and Epsilon knew, I'd fallen into the lake and been pulled out, exhausted and shaken, but alive.

With a heavy, reluctant sigh I sat down as Mum stood up, pouring me a glass of orange juice. Once we were all seated again (sans Mrs. Shilling, still cleaning, and Domino, who lay next to the back door and watched us), Dad reached across the table and covered my hand with his, clearly concerned.

"What happened, kitten? What were you doing out there in the first place?" With an uncomfortable shift in my chair, I looked down at the table, pretending to gather my thoughts. I really hated lying to Dad about this part of my life, as did Mum, but it was necessary. I'd decided that omitting as much knowledge as possible was the best course of action.

"I...I don't really know," I muttered, injecting the right amount of hesitancy into my voice. Dad, however, took it as me being difficult.

"Jess..." He warned, clearly not in the mood to put up with any hedging I might throw at him. I shook my head at him quickly, to show he had the wrong idea.

"I don't mean it like that, Dad. I mean I don't know – I don't remember. As far as I'm aware, I went to sleep, and woke up on the lake shore, throwing my guts up along with half of Lume Lake," I raised my free hand in a helpless gesture, letting it fall limply back into my lap. Dad was looking at me in bewilderment, then at Mum. Avril just stared.

"You're trying to tell me you were _sleepwalking_? You got dressed, walked half way across the island, and then _off a cliff_ – all while you were asleep?" She asked, not afraid to be blunt when my parents were clearly trying to find a polite way of being disbelieving.

Well, there was no changing my story now. I just looked at her, shrugged miserably, and nodded.

"I guess so. That's the only explanation I've got, anyway," Since being frustrated used to be one of my constant states of existence, it was easy to fake now. Then, as if struck by a sudden revelation, I lifted my head and spoke to my parents, locking eyes with Mum to make sure she understood.

"Maybe it's like when you went through that funny stage after moving here – you sleepwalked all the way up to the Miradel one night! It could have been something like that, do you think?" By sounding eager to solve what had happened to me, I convinced them all that little bit more that I was telling the truth. Thank you, Mother, for being an expert liar and passing that on to me.

My parents were looking at each other, both worried and relieved to have a possible answer. Avril was glancing at me worriedly – I'd told her about Mum's late-night excursion when it happened. Combined with the result of my own 'sleepwalking', it was potentially scary news. There was also a scrap of doubt there, though. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged, then responded when I kept looking at her.

"It just seems like you'd wake up before you walked off a cliff, that's all," She muttered. For a slip-second I panicked, then memory struck.

"D'you remember that news story, a few years back? A woman was on holiday and sleepwalked off her apartment balcony because her mind was following the layout of her own home, not the flat she was in. I think I remember having some sort of dream before I woke up in the lake, but...I can't remember anything about it. Just a sensation of falling, then waking up as I hit the water," I must have sounded suitably disturbed, because Dad gripped my hand again and Avril gave me a one-armed hug as Mum patted my arm.

This time, though, the emotion was genuine. The fall had been terrifying, and the knowledge that I was going to drown had driven almost all reason from me. Breathing in water instead of air had been agonizing. Anyone would be disturbed to recall that; to add Cimul – who frightened me even when he was standing still – to that, it was a wonder my heart hadn't given out earlier from sheer terror.

I gradually realised that my parents were talking, and listened without lifting my eyes from the table.

Dad thought they should call Doctor Parker, but Mum countered that – what could he do for sleepwalking, other than give medication that may or may not work?

"Besides," she said in a low murmur, as though wary of upsetting me, "look at how distressed she was the last time he was here! No, I think we can let Domino sleep upstairs for tonight-" Domino woofed and drummed his tail happily at this, "-and he'll wake up if she moves. We can lock the front door and put up some sort of barricade on the back – you need to fix that _this weekend_, Richard! – so that if she sleepwalks again, she can't get out of the house, at least. If it happens again, we'll start considering other options," She said firmly. Dad nodded after a minute, agreeing with the compromise. I just sat and hid a relieved sigh in my drink, blinking as though I'd just come out of a reverie.

The rest of the day was refreshingly normal. We had a late dinner, I had a shower (I couldn't have stomached a bath so soon after last night), and spent most of what was left of the day in clean pyjamas, watching tacky soap operas on the sofa with Avril, the pair of us berating the plot, characters, and anything else that came to mind until Mum chased us upstairs so she could watch her show in peace. We were going to stay up late, but even after my sleep-a-thon, I was tired by half past midnight and we called it a night, put the laptop away and talked about normal things until we fell asleep. Avril was sensitive enough not to bring up last night, though Mum had snagged me as I came out of the shower and asked to talk to me when Avril had left. No doubt she wanted the full story when there were no best friends to listen in.

The rest of Avril's stay passed in a lazy, dream-like haze. I didn't sleepwalk again (obviously), so Domino was relegated back to the kitchen at night. I could relax; I didn't have to be frightened of what I would see in town when we went shopping for trinkets for Avril's family.

On one of the days we went in, Ely, Luke and Dr. Parker were all sat outside Jerry Cork's house. Dr. Parker's car was outside, so I guessed he was doing his rounds and was stopping to tend to Jerry's hands. The four men were quiet though; sombre. When Avril and I passed, they glanced up. Luke looked away immediately, followed by a morose Jerry. Dr. Parker nodded and attempted a cheery hello, but sounded strained and bleak instead before turning away again, his head down. Ely stared at me the longest, saying nothing, but when he finally lowered his pale eyes, there was a weariness in the action that said more than Dr. Parker's blustering ever could.

These men were broken, defeated, and I couldn't help but pity them.

When Avril finally left, and we'd waved until her ferry was out of sight, I called Domino and told Dad I was going for a walk. Dad nodded and headed to the beach for some photos. I went straight to the cottage.

I'd had no clue what Epsilon meant by 'the picture' – until I'd taken my laundry downstairs and saw my jeans in the wash basket, about to be put in the machine. I'd quickly rescued the O picture; the other half of the Ouroborus picture I'd thrown out of the cottage window when it turned into Cimul. I'd carefully folded the picture in my pocket when I headed out with Domino, enjoying the luxury of being able to walk to the cottage instead of run. I was a little bit nervous about what I'd see there, obviously – I trusted Epsilon, but I also remembered that the last two times I'd been in his cottage, I'd either been driven out by Cimul, or pulled into the dimension or plane or whatever that the Dark Beings inhabited. Neither were good memories.

But when I reached the clearing, I realised the windows were all fixed, even the ones that had originally been broken.

Something still seemed off, until I realised that these sheets of glass weren't the smooth planes I expected. The glass was warped; old, stained with age. The door was closed again, but Epsilon had been here since, so it didn't worry me like it had the last time.

I still edged into the cottage, and gawped around at the change I saw as Domino rushed into the room to explore.

Light still flooded in through the windows, showing the repaired floor. Close inspection showed hairline cracks where the tiles had been pieced together and sealed. The ammonites were still in place, peeking out from under the two rugs spread across the floor, its dusty old stitching repaired.

The bookcase was standing, the broken stalactite I'd grabbed as an impromptu knife placed along the top in its two halves.

The shelves along the wall that had been splintered and torn down had been replaced, the fractured piece of lava sitting on its usual shelf, though it no longer froze on the cusp of falling.

A lot of Epsilon's old knick-knacks were there, still broken but left as a reminder. A few were being replaced; mainly the little jars of incense, though one stood apart from the rest, its jar painstakingly pieced back together and held in shape by – of all things – sellotape, with the roll lying next to it as though recently used. It must have been the same reel I'd brought down a few months ago; the corners of the box file had become worn and started to split, but I didn't want to shift everything to a new box. Instead, I'd mummified the box in tape to hold the corners together.

Carefully picking up the little jar, I couldn't help my broad grin at its new yet worn label: SPICES OF THE ORIENT.

Gently setting it down, I glanced about the kitchen again, my eyes landing on the rocking chair in the corner. This, like the bookcase and shelves, actually looked new.

When I went over to investigate, I realised that it was still being made; there was a pattern being carved along the top of its back, only half finished, and the floor around it was cushioned with wood shavings. It looked like Epsilon had made them himself. A second look at the dark wood of the bookcase confirmed it – the same lazy pattern of wild climbing roses intertwined with vines was carved along the sides, mimicking the explosion of flowers that coated the cottage walls in summer.

Turning away, I faced one of the benches that usually held miscellaneous trinkets, but now was clear except for a heavy piece of wood, already partially shaped. Though it hadn't yet been hollowed through, the outline of the wooden 'O' was unmistakable.

By this point I was half beaming, half suppressing a euphoric laugh. Only this place could make me feel so giddy at seeing it repaired, but I pushed the urge to laugh aside in favour of rushing up the (now debris-free and fixed) stairs.

The pigeon's room (as I'd come to think of it) was the same as ever, but I only spared it a glance as I headed into the main bedroom.

Immediately, my eyes went to the walls.

No scars. No symbols. No Cimul.

Just plain, blank walls, with the occasional picture. The star charts had been redone, the hammock mended (though I could see the knots where Epsilon had patched the slashes) the desk's wood smooth and unmarked, cluttered with its usual slew of papers and dried quills. Resting on it was a picture frame, square, but empty. Or...not empty, but with a picture in the reverse, so all I could see was the blank back of the parchment.

I pulled the round picture out of my pocket, unfolding it carefully, but I hesitated to put it back in the frame. I didn't want to touch that thing after the face I'd seen in it.

"It's no longer there, Jess."

I turned at Epsilon's voice, smiled when I saw him standing in front of the mirror – the way he'd done before I first opened the silver boxes, scaring me half to death in the process.

This time, he didn't disappear when I blinked. Instead, he walked over and picked up the frame. I chewed on my lip, eyeing the frame nervously, but not for long. He turned the wood over briskly, showing the Ouroborus and its title. Black and gold. That was it. With a sigh, I let my breath out and nodded, carefully taking the frame Epsilon handed me and replacing the picture I'd torn from it. As soon as I did, a deep sense of relief and satisfaction spread through me. By the time Epsilon had replaced the frame on the wall, I was smiling. When he turned and smiled back, I laughed. It was good to feel safe again.

"I'm surprised at how much better this place looks – you've got a lot done in under two weeks," I said, waving an arm around at the cottage in general after boosting myself up into the hammock.

"I mean, I dunno how long it takes to make a bookcase or rocking chair, but I'd guess it'd take a while, especially with everything else to fix,"

He seemed amused at that, if his grin was anything to go by.

"I've had plenty of time in which to repair the cottage," He replied innocently. I just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, plenty of time...fifty years in the future or past!" I pointed out. He just laughed and didn't deny anything.

Rolling my eyes at him, I rummaged through my backpack – a new one, since the old one had stank of mildew and old water, even after drying out – and pulled out the book of songs, leaving my swinging seat to hide it in the draw with the box file.

The action reminded me of the not-so-pleasant task awaiting us at the Ouroborus Stone. I grimaced as I stood up, glancing out of the window towards the Stone, though it wasn't visible from here.

"So, getting rid of Cimul's body I understand. But how are we going to stop the stone from being used again?" I asked. After all, even though the thicket had kept people out til then, all it had taken was me hacking away with a pocket knife to reach it and clear it. Anyone else could do the same, and bring him back.

"Your idea to bury the body in the ocean was a good one," He said, straightening from where he'd 'rested' against the wall, though his body was once again in that half-there, half-mist state. I just rolled my eyes at him again as he spoke – if anyone else had said that, I'd have known they'd read my diary. With Epsilon, it was just a given that he knew things. Hell, he might have seen me writing that entry. I had no way of knowing, so I didn't call him on it.

"But?" I prompted, catching the drawn-out tone that typically precluded the word. Epsilon smiled at my perceptiveness and continued.

"But not the one we will use. As for the Ouroborus Stone, it should be destroyed. That way, it cannot be used again. The body can be dealt with at the same time,"

Well, that was simple. Not.

"I don't know about you, Epsilon, but without a sledgehammer and more muscle than I've got, I can't break that thing apart. Never mind smashing up stone, have you seen the size of that thing? It's practically a table!" But he was holding up a hand to quiet me, which I reluctantly complied with.

"I don't expect you to destroy it, Jess," Though he looked very entertained by the mental image of me waving a sledgehammer about, I'm sure. He was holding back a grin, anyway. "And sledgehammers won't be necessary," He added. Well, good for him. Maybe we were going to blow it up or something. I wouldn't put it past him, at any rate.

Epsilon waved me out of my thoughts on pyrotechnics and out of the cottage, Domino following us when we found him in the kitchen, sneezing at the wood shavings.

It was strange, going anywhere with Epsilon. Usually, he'd drive me up the wall for ten minutes, finally give me a clue I could understand, then send me packing (i.e. running all over the island). If he needed to talk to me again, he'd either tell me to come back to the cottage, or make his presence known wherever I was. This walk across our land, and the mad run towards the village last night, had been the only times I'd actually travelled with Epsilon (I don't count trailing a drunk Mike-in-the-red-beret along the beach on the night of the Greet, since I didn't know it was Epsilon at the time). I guess I'm trying to wrap my mind around walking anywhere with someone who can randomly appear and disappear at will.

We didn't talk on the way to the Ouroborus Stone; both of us content to leave the other to their thoughts and laugh at Domino blinking in confusion at a particularly swift rabbit that seemed to vanish into its bolt hole, leaving my dog staring at empty ground, bemused.

As I started to recognise the forest around the stone, the nerves that I'd kept at bay until then finally broke out of their cage and started beating against my insides like startled bats. It may be Cimul, and it may be a brain-dead Cimul, but it was still a body. One we were going to dispose of.

At the thought, I grimaced in distaste. Both for what we had to do; and that I sounded like a rather bad crime novel.

As we approached the clearing, I kept my eye on Domino; watching for any sign of distress or disgust – he had a sharp nose, and the body had been there for three days now. I had no idea if Cimul's body worked the same way a human one did, but if it was dead when it was made or crafted or whatever, then by now, especially in the middle of a baking summer, it would have started to decompose.

The thought of looking at a rotting corpse made the bats in my stomach make a bid for freedom up my throat; bringing bile with them.

But Domino was rooting about, sniffing at everything calmly as usual, so I pushed my nausea down. If he didn't smell anything...bad, then chances are the body would just lie there, unchanging, until it was occupied.

Despite my reassurances, when we reached the clearing I still hung back until Epsilon had gone in first, fidgeting nervously as Domino woofed and followed, bounding after our guide. I'm a coward, I know. But with both Epsilon and Domino heading into the clearing with no fear, I had no choice but to follow.

Epsilon was waiting, and offered up a sympathetic smile when I shuffled into sight.

Biting my tongue to distract myself from the gruesome images my imagination was firing at me, I finally turned to look at the Ouroborus Stone, and Cimul.

Motionless. Shedding, obsidian skin. Rows of snakes lining his arms and legs. Open, sightless eyes.

His monster's face contorted in fury.

Gone was the manic glee; even this empty husk reflected Cimul's defeat, and his rage.

I turned away with a shudder, repulsed. I knew we'd won, but this hollow demon still terrified me.

Behind me, I heard a low rustle. Glad of the distraction, I turned to see Epsilon pulling at the net of thorns I'd cut away from the stone. The snarled mass fell apart under his hands; even faster when Domino, spying a new game, jumped on it, protected from the thorns by his thick fur and tough paw pads.

We both laughed, and I went over to help pull the tangle apart.

"This should make good kindling," Epsilon explained, but I frowned.

"If people see smoke, they're going to come running. A fire could wipe out the whole forest, it's so dry," I said, worried. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally set the woods on fire.

Epsilon grinned, however.

"Pet Domino," He ordered suddenly. I blinked at him, confused. He just smiled and repeated himself. Slowly, I bent to obey, calling my dog to me. His tail waved and he trotted over, always ready for a good scratch.

I went to brush his back, and frowned. Tried again.

I couldn't touch him.

Then, it all clicked – sort of.

I turned back to Epsilon, and suddenly Domino bumped against my hands, able to be touched again.

"You can control who touches something..." I said slowly, as though sounding out my half-formed revelation. "...so can you control who sees something, too?" I asked, recalling the glimpses of the past Epsilon had once given me – and the times I'd spoken to him, but not seen him. Epsilon nodded serenely, as though it were perfectly normal. I gawped at him for a second, then shook off my surprise and shut my mouth. At least I didn't have to worry about the fire getting out of hand – the flames wouldn't touch anything they weren't meant to.

"A fire will take care of the body, but what about the stone? And won't..." My queasy stomach interfered with my throat for a moment, strangling my voice until I cleared it. "Won't it stink? The body, I mean," Ugh. I did not want to be here when Cimul's body started _cooking_.

Epsilon nodded, but it looked more thoughtful than affirmative.

"Don't concern yourself with the former, and we will be gone before the latter becomes a problem," He said soothingly, though I still struggled to push away my worries.

Epsilon straightened from dismantling the soon-to-be-kindling, idly dusting leaves and thorns from his dark coat as I stretched the knots out of my back and eyed the stone unhappily. Still, when he gathered up an armful of thorns, I followed suit – glad of my long sleeves – and we slowly transferred the spiky mass to the stone, then headed out to the surrounding trees to gather more dry foliage.

When we were done, Cimul was surrounded and covered by greenery, heaped high to keep the fire going. Larger, sturdy braches were propped against the stone, forming the base of the bonfire.

Epsilon approached, brushing the dirt from his hands and looking solemn. I wondered if he had a pack of matches or something with him, but he just stepped forward, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the kindling. He breathed a word or two, too softly for me to hear, and a tiny tongue of flame danced from his fingers, latching onto the dry grass as he withdrew his hand. We both stepped back, Domino padding over to sit at my feet as we watched the flames grow higher.

Instead of watching the body, I focussed on the stone, watching for any signs of it being destroyed. I didn't notice it, at first. I'd started thinking we'd need the sledgehammers after all when I noticed the flames.

The writhing pillars were a gleaming orange, nothing unusual there. But the base of the flames, those licking the sturdy branches around the stone, they were changing. Darkening, turning purple, then blue – like a gas flame. Getting lighter; fading to the colour of a summer sky, then to that of the first light of dawn. Lighter still; a distilled watercolour, fading, slowly, to white. All the while, it was burning hotter. It reached white, and grew brighter, sparks leaping from the rock that had started to glow a dull, cherry red.

White on red, white on orange, white on white.

With a resounding crack; the sound of an avalanche starting, the stone collapsed. The Ouroborus Stone crumpled, Cimul vanishing utterly in the rubble.

I turned to look at Epsilon, and saw him open his eyes, as though from deep concentration. When I glanced back at the fire, the flames were utterly normal; their heart a dull blue, no longer searing white.

Without a word, we turned and left the clearing, the sparks from the fire leaping free, only to sizzle out harmlessly against the grass.

The walk back to the Big House was quiet, solemn. Even Domino walked sedately, sending us quizzical glances as he picked up on our contemplative silence.

I felt like I should be relieved – now that, finally, I was free of Cimul for life, as were the I-don't-know-how-many generations after me. But it would feel...I dunno, wrong, somehow, to be celebrating after a cremation. That's what Cimul's pyre had been, after all. He might have been an enemy; dangerous, heartless, and were the situation reversed – had Cimul beaten us; killed us, he wouldn't have afforded anyone the respect we'd just shown him. But I didn't feel glad that he was, essentially, dead. Relieved, yes. But not as though I should celebrate. And maybe that was right – because I would have been as heartless as Cimul if I felt any differently.

As we stepped out of the forest, the path back to the Big House a few metres away, I turned to look at Epsilon, and stopped.

He wasn't there.

But, very faintly, mingling with the loud birdsong and the distant crash of the waves against the cliff; was the serene sound of a flute. With a smile, I turned and called for Domino, and together we headed back to the Big House. Back home.


	13. Alternate Chapter 11

Here it is; the alternate 'explanation' scene/final chapter...which actually ended up being more than twice the length of the original, and I do quite like this one a lot. So I'll leave it up to you, readers, to decide for yourselves which you consider the 'real' end and which you think is the 'alternate' end. Now, you'll probably notice that the chapter starts and ends exactly like the original (so don't worry; I've not posted the same chapter twice!) - but it's the middle that changes and has been edited and added to etc. As a result, once you hit the first change, you might want to read the whole thing through just to catch the changes - some of which are in the original paragraphs that are featured in both versions of this chapter.

Oh, and can I say - I actually worked out what year Sebastian and the twins were born in, as well as when in the year Sebastian was born (any time after July; when he was keeping his diary). All for a tiny detail. I must have been mad XD Speaking of little Seb, I've got a one-shot in mind that revolves around him, if you're interested. If not, I'll probably write it anyway at some point, but interest will probably motivate me to write it sooner (this isn't a bribe, just a fact of my own procrastination XD).

Anyway, I'll be quiet now (other than the upcoming disclaimer) and let you read the alternate/real conclusion to this year and a half long effort XD As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks again, all of my lovely readers/reviewers/lurkers, for reading and (I hope!) enjoying this fic!

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to the brilliant Christine Morton-Shaw.**

* * *

Perhaps it's a good thing that there are no guys my age here on Lume, and that my chances of getting married before I'm forty are practically non-existent.

No, I'm not suddenly swearing off guys. But I wouldn't half feel sorry for one being introduced to my family and walking into the scene that awaited me when I made my way downstairs.

The three of them (plus Domino lying under the table) were waiting in the kitchen, looking tired and worried. Well, my parents did. Mrs. Shilling was bustling about, cleaning the kitchen counters and sniffing in disapproval at Domino whenever he gazed up at her, hopefully, his tail thudding on the floor in anticipation of a treat.

Mum and Dad looked up when I appeared in the doorway, summoning up smiles and blatantly trying to hide the fact that they'd just been moping into their cups of tea as they thought about how best to interrogate me. Domino turned his canine grin on me and squirmed out from underneath the breakfast table where he'd wedged himself, trotting over and licking my hands, his tail beating a dent in the doorframe. To buy myself some time, I knelt down and gave his ears a good scratch as Avril passed me to sit down.

I kept my head down, babying my dog whilst my brain whirled until Dad called my attention back to the matter at hand – namely, how I'd nearly drowned.

I hadn't told them that I _had_ drowned – I saw no point in worrying them further. As far as anyone other than me and Epsilon knew, I'd fallen into the lake and been pulled out, exhausted and shaken, but alive.

With a heavy, reluctant sigh I sat down as Mum stood up, pouring me a glass of orange juice. Once we were all seated again (sans Mrs. Shilling, still cleaning, and Domino, who lay next to the back door and watched us), Dad reached across the table and covered my hand with his, clearly concerned.

"What happened, kitten? What were you doing out there in the first place?" With an uncomfortable shift in my chair, I looked down at the table, pretending to gather my thoughts.

'_I really hate lying to Dad,'_ I thought wretchedly as I took a sip of juice, still procrastinating.

"Don't lie on my account, Jess,"

My parents and Avril swivelled in their seats to look at the back door while my head snapped up and I choked on my drink, orange juice spraying out of my mouth and nose.

While I coughed and choked and groaned at my burning sinuses, Epsilon stood, semi-corporeal, in the doorway, Domino sat underneath his hand quite happily, a look of amusement on his face. Epsilon's, I mean, not the dog's.

"I- you- who are you? And how did you get in here?" Dad demanded once he'd pulled himself together enough to stop gawping at our friendly intruder. Mum was just staring, her gaze flicking between me (slowly starting to recover now, thank you for your concern, anybody), and Epsilon. Avril was gaping at Epsilon with eyes as wide as Domino's when he's seen a roast chicken.

A dry sniff from behind us drew everyone's attention as Mrs. Shilling turned from her cleaning and sent Epsilon a critical look, before turning on Dad.

"Oh, leave him be, Richard! He's hardly going to steal anything," She snapped, though she levelled a glare at Epsilon that said she dared him to try with her in the house. He just met her red-rimmed stare evenly and nodded his thanks. With another, possibly approving sniff, she turned on Avril – who hadn't blinked the entire time, as far as I'm aware.

"Well, hooligan, what are you doing, sat there gawping like a fish for? Make yourself useful and make everyone tea," Avril turned to face her, mouth still open, this time in incredulity.

Mrs. Shilling tolerated all of two seconds of Avril's wordless sputtering and pointing at Epsilon as if to say '_don't you see the semi-transparent man in the corner?'_ before marching over and swatting her with the dishcloth she still held.

Avril finally yelped and found her voice in time to yell as she covered her head.

"What are you doing, you mad old hag?"

Red flag to a bull. Mrs. Shilling smacked her with the towel again until she'd herded my unfortunate friend out of her seat and towards the kettle.

Once Avril was meekly making cups of tea (with frequent glares at Mrs. Shilling's back, and glances at Epsilon, who was failing to smother a grin at all of this, as though he usually hung out in our kitchen causing havoc), Mrs. Shilling sighed and sat down in Avril's vacated chair and turned her beady glare on my staring parents.

"Is what that one's got catching?" She asked pointedly with a brief nod towards Avril, and my parents swiftly looked anywhere but her. Then – oh god – she turned to me and sniffed. "Well, speak up girl! I'm sure he's not come to talk to any of us,"

I blinked, then fished my tongue out of my stomach and turned to Epsilon, who just gave me an amused smile as he idly scratched Domino's ears. The silly hound was in heaven. Lucky him.

"What _are_ you doing here, Epsilon?" I finally managed, picking up on what my great-aunt had implied.

Before I could get an answer, however, Dad risked Mrs. Shilling's wrath and interrupted.

"Wait just a second! Jessica, you _know_ him?" He was looking rapidly between me and Epsilon again, utter bemusement written on his face.

"Um..." Oh, what the hell. If Epsilon was standing – now solid, which had thankfully improved everyone's ability to think clearly again – in my kitchen, that was a pretty good indicator that my keeping him a secret was over. "Yes. He sort of lives on our land. Has done for ages. _Literally_, ages," I added with a pointed glance at the man in question, who just nodded amicably. The bloody Bright Being was going to let me answer all the questions, I could just tell.

Dad was impersonating a basking shark again. I swear I could see his tonsils from across the table.

"He-he _what?_ Where?" He was blatantly staring at Epsilon now, though I think he was still talking to me. I just hope he wasn't thinking of trying to evict our otherworldly lodger.

I sighed. May as well tell them everything at once. Even Mum was looking wide-eyed at this latest development – I'd never told her exactly where Epsilon lived; I'd wanted to keep my sanctuary to myself for a while. Avril was shaking her head in disbelief as she ferried tea cups across to the table. And you didn't believe me when I told you any of this. Hah!

"Alright! Everyone, shut up if you want to know what's going on." No one was actually talking, but my order made me centre of attention and effectively silenced everyone until I had finished speaking.

I couldn't help making a last jab at Avril as she pulled out another chair and sat down before explaining, however.

"I don't know why you're so surprised by all this, you know. I told you almost all of this as it was happening – you were the one who laughed it off as an Enid Blyton spin-off!" That snapped her out of her dazed look of shock and summoned up one of her customary scowls.

"Oh, shut up and get on with it," She muttered. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Isn't that a bit contradictory?" I think Epsilon's irritating demeanour is rubbing off on me. Regardless, Avril fumed wordlessly, unable to come up with a suitable retort, and resorted to kicking me under the table.

A sharp reprimand from Dad brought me back to the topic at hand.

My last delay was a sharp look at Epsilon and a stern 'you're helping me with this', before going back to my stroppy fourteen-year-old self and the conversation with Avril that 'V' had gate crashed, then my shovel theft that led me to the cottage. Epsilon, true to his word, chipped in to help me explain the finer points, and laughed when I sheepishly recounted my early theories that he was either a teenage hacker or a ghost. I'm not sure which he found more entertaining. We told them about Sebastian, turning mainly to Mrs. Shilling during these parts of the story. I could tell from her rare smile that she enjoyed these glimpses into her father's life, as odd as they were, and I decided to give her Sebastian's diary pages to read. She positively cackled (Avril leaned away from her muttering 'witch') when I, hoping to get Epsilon in trouble, told her about his random appearances that used to make Sebastian jump. Unfortunately, she seemed as tolerant of Epsilon's 'accidental' pranks as she was of mine.

They were all deathly silent when I, a faint frown of unease creasing my forehead, told my side of Mum's increasing oddity that summer, my encounter with the swan – Dad looked horrified that the bird he'd been photographing was so wrapped up in the madness – and the days leading up to the Greet. I didn't spare myself or Epsilon; I told them all how uncertain I'd been, of him and of Sebastian and my own capability. Mum looked faint when I told them about the night of the Greet, and just how close things had come. I think seeing Martha in that cavern helped drive home just how much danger we'd all been in. The only one of them who looked comparatively undisturbed when, in a hushed tone, I'd described Cimul, was Mrs. Shilling. When Mum added her account of her dazed awakening and her realisation of how Martha had died, it was our aunt who covered Mum's had with her own, her bony knuckles white with the grip. But when we all looked up at her, it wasn't sympathy or horror in Mrs. Shilling's eyes. It was fury for what had been done to her grandmother, and for the lost life her father had led because of it.

Hers was one of the few interruptions; she turned to me with anger still glinting in her black eyes and asked me one question.

"I've already guessed the answer, girl, but confirm it for me. Did you destroy that monster?"

I took a second to really think over the answer, looking to Epsilon for any clues on how to respond. He straightened from where he'd been resting against the door, subtly drawing attention to himself.

"Cimul was defeated last night, and Jess and I will, once she has recovered, ensure that he can never harm anyone again. Jess will tell you the details, but I can assure you, Bridie, that Cimul is trapped as Martha once was, and will remain that way," While I wondered when the two had come to be on first name terms, Mrs. Shilling nodded, her eyes still severe, but losing that furious cast. The idea that Cimul was suffering the way her grandmother had obviously appealed to my great-aunt. With another nod and a brusque 'well, carry on girl!' I completed the first part of my tale, my voice soft with wonder when I told them about Agapetos' appearance, then, with a tired sigh, began the second with another chat room conversation.

This half didn't take as long; I was surprised when I realised that everything had happened in a matter of five days, if I counted today as the day of the fight at the lake (which technically, since it was in the early hours of this morning, it was). Mum gave her disappointed 'oh, _Jess_' when she realised I'd not told her the whole truth in our little talks, and Avril looked suitably shell-shocked when she realised what her present really was. Both reactions I brushed off in favour of completing the tale. Night had fully fallen by the time I brought us up to the events of this morning, with Epsilon pulling me out of the lake and my current audience finding us on the lakeside.

When my parents realised I had actually drowned, Dad dropped his head into his hands and Mum covered her suddenly bloodless lips, her eyes huge. They both looked shaky, and I had to reach across and grip their hands to remind them that I was still alive and breathing. It was an awkward stretch to reach them both, but I didn't mind. After a few seconds, they managed to push away their terror of nearly losing me and held my hands on the table, letting me sit up a little straighter and turn to Epsilon, a half-joking question ready to distract everyone.

"Anyway, when did you learn CPR?" He stole my joking grin effortlessly, however, with an elegant shrug and a simple;

"You didn't require it." Okay, what?

My customary hesitation and frown of confusion drew everyone else's attention.

"Yes, I did, Epsilon. I definitely wasn't breathing when I was pulled out of the lake," I asserted, certain in my conviction. His slow smile confounded me, however.

"You did not. We reached the bank, and you began to breathe again," I started to silently question his sanity again, but remembered the last time that had happened, I'd been proven wrong.

"But I was _dead_, Epsilon. I'm pretty sure dead people don't just start breathing for themselves again," I felt both of my parents' hands twitch in mine when I said 'dead', and absently squeezed them both to reassure them, all the while locking eyes with Epsilon and trying to wring some sense out of him.

"If you weren't conscious, Jess, how do you know any of what you're saying is true?" Damn his common sense. I hesitated, trying to find something to counter that.

"Logic," I replied finally, my tone all too defensive to be confident. Epsilon was wearing that faintly smug, innocent smile that said he was going to tear apart any argument I could throw at him. I was familiar enough with it by now that I had little hope in besting him.

"I was, what, twenty or thirty feet down when I started to inhale water and blacked out. Cimul was still able to move at this point – he let go of me to deal with you. Even if you took care of him in a matter of seconds, it would have taken too long to get me to the surface before I stopped breathing and died," I surprised myself with how easily I found it to say 'I died' – it was fairly easy to stay detached from what I was actually saying unless I remembered the suffocating pressure of taking in water; of breathing but there being no air there. To keep myself calm, I purposely avoided thinking about what had happened. It worked to an extent.

Uh-oh. That smile again.

"So, supposing you had died and required CPR – which wouldn't cure death, regardless...where are the bruises; the fractured bones? Such a technique usually leaves its marks," And damn him, he was right. I was peppered with bruises already, from the events of the past five days. The most noticeable now were the bands of livid purple and red around my throat – a memento of Cimul's grip. If that had bruised me, then CPR definitely would have done. And, I now realised with a grimace, he was right about needing CPR too – if I'd died, it was practically useless.

It still didn't explain how I'd survived, though.

Epsilon must have seen the confusion and defeat in my face, and in the way my hand rose to gingerly brush my neck.

"I won't debate your condition, Jess. You were as weak as you say you were – but you could be called back, if not by your world's means," That got my attention, and earned Epsilon a rather inarticulate 'huh?'. He just gave that annoyingly knowing smile and said nothing.

So...I was saved by Epsilon using some sort of Being ability? That was...odd, but not utterly unexpected, I guess. It's strange how much you can think of as 'expected' when you've been around Epsilon for a while.

My family didn't seem to be as concerned with the means of my survival, so much as the fact that I had actually survived.

Dad was still sat, shocked that he'd been oblivious to the danger the rest of his family had been in over the past two years. Mum was holding his free hand with hers; they both still had hold of me, and I could feel Dad shaking slightly. A glance at his face showed that his eyes looked glassy.

On impulse, I let go of them and stood up, walking around the table to hug him tightly, and abruptly found myself sitting on his knee as though I were five again. For once I didn't complain, however, and just held my Dad until he'd stopped trembling.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about this earlier," I said, my voice muffled by the shoulder of his jumper. He just nodded, his bony chin bumping into my collarbone, the motion releasing another wave of that sharp, chemical smell he had. When he let me go, he brusquely wiped his eyes and patted my back to make me stand up, muttering something about getting the brandy before disappearing into the old pantry.

With a long sigh, I sat back in my own seat and relaxed, idly noticing the new lightness that sat where my guilt about lying to Dad used to be. Mum looked as though she felt the same, a thoroughly exhausted but content smile on her face as she picked up the by now empty mugs and glass on the table and set the by the sink to be washed later, then dug out smaller, squat glasses for the brandy. Avril was eyeing the pantry door, obviously in need of a glass of alcohol herself. The only ones who looked unfazed by the evening's developments were Epsilon, Mrs. Shilling and Domino, who had lay down at Epsilon's feet and was snoring softly, barely twitching when Dad passed him both on the way into and out of the pantry.

I was surprised when Mum, with only a bit of nervous stuttering, offered Epsilon a glass. I gaped at him when he politely accepted.

He obviously caught my expression and raised an inquisitive eyebrow that shut my mouth before I answered him.

"I didn't know you drank," I muttered, trying not to sound accusatory. Epsilon just laughed.

"Of course I do. I drank at the Greet, if you remember,"

Oh yeah. Tipsy Mike in the red beret, sharing his drink with Mrs. Shilling. Though when I'd realised that was Epsilon, I'd just thought the weaving and slight slurring was an act.

Dad was shaking his head.

"I still can't believe you were Mike," He muttered as he doled out the alcohol, passing the glasses to Mum, who shared them out.

I just stared at Dad as Epsilon accepted his drink with a soft 'thank you'.

"You can't believe he was disguised as someone else – which normal humans can do as well – when he's just appeared out of thin air _in your kitchen_, and was _semi-transparent_ for at least part of our conversation? Come on, Dad," I complained. Dad winced apologetically.

"I'm sorry, kitten. It's just...a lot to take in," He gave a shaky laugh and downed half of his drink in one. The burn seemed to steady him slightly as Mum pressed my own glass into my hand.

"Leave your Dad alone, Jess. He's not had long to adjust to all of this, and he found it all out at once," Oh, so now my parents were ganging up on me. Avril didn't help by gulping down her drink and sending a jokey 'yeah Jess!' my way before helping herself to a second glass. God help her liver, because she won't. Not that I can talk, anyway.

It was surreal, to say the least, to have Epsilon drinking with us all, especially once Mum had recovered enough to offer him a seat at the table. Any observer would have thought it a normal domestic scene; the family of four and their two guests, beginning to talk freely as the drink relaxed us all. The very thought was enough to make me giggle into my glass, though that might have been the brandy. Avril had three glasses before Mum caught on and kept the bottle away from her. It didn't stop Avril from laughing at everything and hanging around my neck as she talked, or eventually falling asleep with her head on the table. When she and Domino – now relocated between my seat and Epsilon's – started to snore in sync, I laughed myself silly until Mum took the brandy off me as well and told me to help her take Avril upstairs.

Once we'd left her lying her on her stomach, snoring contentedly, and headed back downstairs, we heard Dad bidding the others a goodnight, only slurring slightly, and retreating to bed. When we were in view of the kitchen again, we found Mrs. Shilling and Epsilon talking like old friends catching up. I still don't know what they were talking about, because they stopped when we came back in, but I do know that they were the last up, after I'd started to doze at the table and been sent up after Avril. In my slightly inebriated state, I went round and hugged everyone goodnight – Epsilon included, which I wouldn't have done normally. I think I said something to the effect of;

"Thank god you're not all ghost-y, otherwise I'd have fallen right through you and that would have been very, very embarrassing," I stated with the careful, deliberate pronunciation of the drunk who knows they've had a bit too much and want to hide it. Epsilon had just laughed, agreed with me, and bid me goodnight without a trace of intoxication. Jerk.

When I asked Mum the next morning, she said that the two had still been talking, with or without the drink, when she had given up and gone to bed, asking Mrs. Shilling to lock up for her. My great aunt had waved her off with a terse 'oh, stop fussing and go to bed, Elizabeth. You're dead on your feet' and continued talking.

Most of us were fully recovered by the next morning, having slept deeply thanks to the brandy. Avril, however, stumbled out of bed at three in the afternoon – at least an hour and a half after me – moaning about her headache.

While she recovered in the kitchen with Domino resting a sympathetic head on her knee, I was sought out by Mrs. Shilling, who told me to get my coat.

"Why, where are we going?" I asked as I grabbed my jacket from the bottom of the banister post. It was still the middle of summer; and absolutely sweltering. I'd bake if I took my coat with me.

She just sniffed and glared as she shrugged on her ratty old coat.

"For a walk, girl, what else?" Apparently her friendly chat with Epsilon had done nothing to soften her innate irritation at everything I did.

So out we went, just the two of us, heading at a brisk walk towards the village.

I was mystified. Other than Doctor Parker, I couldn't see a reason for Mrs. Shilling to visit anyone here; and she knew how much I disliked the Doctor.

"Mrs. Shilling, who are we going to see?" I panted as we strode up the path to the village. She still walked surprisingly quickly for her age.

Such an odd little smile quirked her lips.

"Just an old friend, girl. Be patient!" Says the one moving ten times faster than we had to be.

But as we moved closer to the village, I realised we weren't heading for the houses.

We were going to the graveyard.

Slowly, a suspicion started to form, but I stayed quiet as Mrs. Shilling led me through the rows of headstones and plaques. Past the newer section of the graveyard, and into the old section. Some of the graves in here dated back to the sixteenth century, but we were here for someone a lot younger.

We stopped in front of a traditionally shaped headstone, but the material was as odd as its commissioner had been deemed. Volcanic rock, and into it was carved an all-too familiar name.

'_Sebastian Edmond Wren_

_17__th__ September 1879 – 12__th__ April 1977_'

There was no epitaph. In the end, no one had known or cared about the mad old man in the Big House enough to contribute one.

For some reason, that made a lump rise in my throat. I'd never known Sebastian except through his diary pages, but I still felt as close to him as I did to Avril. He was still family, and that he'd had no one to care about him when he died hurt me more than I thought it ever could.

Sniffling, I knelt down in front of the marker, Mrs. Shilling sitting next to me stiffly. We'd picked flowers as we walked, Mrs. Shilling seemingly idly at first, but I'd picked up on her pointed glares and joined in.

There were the skeletons of previous bouquets, withered on the grass, but one stood out as fresh. Small, white and yellow summer flowers, bound together by a tiny ring of dark wood. Epsilon.

With conspirator's smiles, we added our flowers and set about clearing away the dead ones and cleaning the place up as best as possible.

By the time we were finished, Sebastian's grave was free of the rampaging weeds, our three bright little bundles of flowers provided a stark contrast to the dark glass of his headstone, and Mrs. Shilling and I were covered in dirt and scraps of leaf. Neither of us had brought gloves, so our fingernails were caked with soil. We stared at each other's grubby faces for a second – I noticing a streak of mud brushed across her forehead, she critically noting the dandelion seeds that had trapped themselves in my hair – and burst out laughing. Well, I did. Mrs. Shilling was slightly more dignified than I was, but we were both gasping for breath by the time we'd calmed down enough to start meandering home.

On the way home, I remembered Seb's diary pages, and quickly hid a grin before turning to my great aunt, who was trying in vain to dust the dirt from her coat – I don't know what year that particular layer of dirt had settled there, but it must have been a few years ago. She'd been beating at the abused fabric since we left the graveyard, and still the odd plume of dust or shower of dirt would fall from the coat.

"I've got a surprise for you too, Mrs. Shilling," At that she stopped trying to reverse time and glared at me suspiciously. I just smiled and led the way, past the Big House (waving to Mum through the kitchen window as I went) and into the woods northeast of the house.

"Where in the blazes are we going, girl? Have you and that hoodlum been sneaking more brandy?" She groused as I wound my familiar way through the vegetation. Recalling the pitiful state Avril had been in this afternoon, I laughed and shook my head.

"Not today, Mrs. Shilling. We're almost there," I added, not quite answering her first question. Her disapproving sniff told me she noticed, but she didn't call me on it.

I don't know why I decided to show Mrs. Shilling the cottage first, instead of Mum or Avril. But I guess Mrs. Shilling was linked to this place more than they were, even though she never knew it existed. Like so many things had on this island, showing her first just felt right.

As we emerged into the clearing, her footsteps slowed in realisation as she figured out where we were.

I turned and grinned at her, letting her absorb it at her own pace before taking stock myself. I realised that the windows were all fixed, even the ones that had originally been broken.

But...something seemed off. Then I realised that these sheets of glass weren't the smooth panes I'd expected. The glass was warped; old, stained with age. I couldn't hold back my beaming grin. Epsilon had already started to work on repairing the cottage.

Slowly, Mrs. Shilling ventured forward, drawing my attention as she came level with me, then passed me. I followed just behind her, only stepping forward to shoulder the half-closed door fully open. Its change from the day before yesterday didn't worry me this time; Epsilon had been here since.

I'll admit; I was quite excited myself. I wanted to see the cottage's recovery as much as I wanted to surprise Mrs. Shilling.

Before entering, I turned to her to offer a quick warning.

"It might be in a bit of a mess – Epsilon's not very tidy at the best of times, and this place was trashed when I was here the other night-" She was waving off my forewarnings, however.

"Hush, girl. Just let me see," There was a soft expectation in her voice that surprised me. She sounded almost – God forbid – teary.

Hastily, I stepped aside and let her step into the cottage. I could tell the moment her eyes had adjusted because her whole face softened and her eyes lit up with wonder. Then I turned around and promptly did the same.

Light still flooded in through the windows, showing the repaired floor. Close inspection showed hairline cracks where the tiles had been pieced together and sealed. The ammonites were still in place, peeking out from under the two rugs spread across the floor, its dusty old stitching repaired. The bookcase was standing, the broken stalactite I'd grabbed as an impromptu knife placed along the top in its two halves. The shelves along the wall that had been splintered and torn down had been replaced, the fractured piece of lava sitting on its usual shelf, though it no longer froze on the cusp of falling. A lot of Epsilon's old knick-knacks were there, still broken but left as a reminder. A few were being replaced; mainly the little jars of incense that always seemed to be in a different place each time I came here. When I first found the cottage, they were upstairs, in the bedroom. But occasionally they would move around the room; from cupboard to windowsill to standing in little heaps on the floor. One day I walked in to find them downstairs; they'd stayed there since, but had continued their trend of moving around the room. It made me grin whenever I saw a pot somewhere daft – like on top of the doorframe, one day – or sat with the lid half-on, as though they'd just been used – though for what, I've no clue. It just reinforced that Epsilon did, in fact, _live_ here; and obviously pottered about when I wasn't here being nosy. It was both an odd yet comforting thought; sometimes it was easy to forget that he existed at times other than when he was being convenient (or _in_convenient) for me, and it was nice to be reminded that I was wrong.

As I browsed through the newly made little vials, I noticed that one stood apart from the rest, its jar painstakingly pieced back together and held in shape by – of all things – sellotape, with the roll lying next to it as though recently used. It must have been the same reel I'd brought down a few months ago; the corners of the box file had become worn and started to split, but I didn't want to shift everything to a new box. Instead, I'd mummified the box in tape to hold the corners together.

Stepping away from the door as Mrs. Shilling, struck dumb, wandered around the space, peering into every corner with a childlike amazement at everything; I made my way over to the bench. Carefully picking up the little jar, I couldn't help my broad smile at its new but worn label: SPICES OF THE ORIENT.

Gently setting it down, I glanced about the kitchen again, my eyes landing on the rocking chair in the corner that Mrs. Shilling was examining. This, like the bookcase and shelves, actually looked new. When I went over to investigate, I realised that it was still being made; there was a pattern being carved along the top of its back, only half finished, and the floor around it was cushioned with wood shavings. It looked like Epsilon had made them himself. A second look at the dark wood of the bookcase confirmed it – the same lazy pattern of wild climbing roses intertwined with vines was carved along the sides, mimicking the explosion of flowers that coated the cottage walls in summer.

Turning away, I faced one of the benches that usually held miscellaneous trinkets, but now was clear except for a heavy piece of wood, already partially shaped. Though it hadn't yet been hollowed through, the outline of the wooden 'O' was unmistakable.

Unable to suppress the laugh soaring in my throat, I spun to face Mrs. Shilling – who was currently putting the sellotaped pot down hastily, her nose wrinkled at the pungent aroma. She tried to glare at my snicker, but couldn't quite manage it. The look of wonder still hadn't left her ancient face.

"What do you think?" I couldn't help but ask. My great aunt stared around the room again once, as though assessing her own reaction, then granted me a cracked, watery smile.

"It's wonderful," She said, shaking her head as though in disbelief. I grinned back in reply.

"There's more, you know. This way," Eagerly, I led her up the stairs – now debris-free and fixed – past the unaltered pigeon's room (as I'd come to think of it), and into the main bedroom.

Immediately, my eyes went to the walls.

No scars. No symbols. No Cimul.

Just plain, blank walls, with the occasional picture. The star charts had been redone, the hammock mended (though I could see the knots where Epsilon had patched the slashes) the desk's wood smooth and unmarked, cluttered with its usual slew of papers and dried quills. Resting on it was a picture frame, square, but empty. Or...not empty, but with a picture in the reverse, so all I could see was the blank back of the parchment.

I'd had no clue what Epsilon meant by 'the picture' – until now. I remembered seeing my jeans in the wash basket, the picture still in its pocket. I'd retrieve it later – Mum always checked out pockets before putting things in the wash, just in case.

That frame still made me slightly uneasy, but I stubbornly ignored it as I headed to the desk, crouching to pull out the drawer that held my box file.

"This isn't all I brought you here to see," I said over my shoulder. Mrs. Shilling looked up from the star charts, watching as I hefted the heavy file out of the drawer and onto the desk. She approached quietly as I carefully rifled through the pages, pausing only at the worn, aged papers to pull them out and set them on the desk.

Once all of Sebastian's diary pages were sitting on the desk, I gathered them up and gently handed them to her. She looked at me sharply, then down at the rushed, fine lines of ink that formed my face. Her eyes went wide with shock, and she swiftly turned the page around, the black orbs running over the spindly writing. I saw the realisation dawn in her eyes as she read the first few words. Slowly, she backed towards the hammock, the way I had once done reading those same pages, and sank down amongst the cushions, heedless of the questionable stability of the hammock.

_Just now I have dreamed of a girl. She was sleeping in my bedchamber, in my swan bed. Just as Epsilon had said..._

I sat silently as she read, revisiting that first terrifying night with the resigned amusement of hindsight. I'd scared myself so much – as had Epsilon – that I'd made myself ill. Almost as though summoned by the memory, I thought I saw a shimmer of silver by the desk.

I narrowed my eyes accusatorily at it, and it shifted remorselessly in response. I pursed my lips and glowered in my best impersonation of the woman next to me, but remained silent so that I didn't disturb her. Mutually, the silver sheen shivered over to the window, as though looking out at the brilliant afternoon sky. Content, I turned back to my great aunt and silently followed the last few words with her as she mouthed them to herself.

_As Agapetos is my witness, so signed by my hand, this fourteenth day of July, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and ninety-four. Sebastian Wren, aged thirteen years._

Reverently, she brushed a hand over his fingerprint; the closest she'd come to holding her father's hand again.

Quietly, I shifted to get her attention, touching the edges of the stacked pages in her lap as she looked at me with a mixture of joy and grief on her weathered old face.

"These are Sebastian's diary entries from the year his mother went missing. There aren't very many, but you're welcome to read them, and the rest of the file," I said gently, waving at the box on the desk.

I saw the understanding light in her eyes, and the gratitude as she turned back to me from glancing at the box.

"Thank you, Jessica," It was rare for Mrs. Shilling to use my name – usually it was just 'girl' – and it showed how much my showing her all this meant to her. She had another link to Sebastian; it may not have been a pleasant one – this was the year that changed her father's life and, arguably, destroyed him and his whole family. But it brought her closer to him, and that was what mattered most to her.

I just smiled at her and squeezed her hand when it patted mine. Then she seemed to recover herself slightly, her sharp eyes going straight to the window.

"And for goodness sake, will you stop hovering like an uncertain houseguest? Honestly," She grumbled as, laughing, Epsilon did his funny fade-in thing; taking on his half-solid form as the glaring sunlight filled the window, half filtering through him to form a hazy shadow.

"I apologise, but I have been scolded for appearing without warning before." Epsilon stated as he sketched out a contrite bow. Yes, that pointed glance was definitely directed at me. "Fortunately you seem to have sharper eyes than your great-niece,"

"Hey!" I protested. Mrs. Shilling just sniffed; her unimpressed demeanour firmly back in place.

"I said you were short-sighted, girl," She commented blandly before standing and carefully tucking the diary pages back into the file, leaving me to reorder them later since right then I was more concerned with fuming silently at the pair of them. They were ganging up on me!

Before I could think of a witty retort (let's face it, I'm against two experts here. My odds are poor at best) Mrs. Shilling turned away from the file, though her wrinkled hand rested on it, as though reluctant to part from it.

"I'll read the other pages another day. I can't risk taking them home and having that hooligan destroying them," She announced. Not that it would matter – I'm sure Epsilon could replace them with his weird little time-jumps if Avril were to somehow damage them, though I decided against voicing this. I'd probably get a lecture on abusing time travel or something if I did. Conniving, ancient gits, both of them.

I was pulled out of my less-than-complementary thoughts by Mrs. Shilling leading the way down the stairs, tutting in exasperation when she realised I was still staring into space.

"Well get a move on, girl! I'll give your food to that beast of a dog of yours if you're late to dinner because you're too busy flitting about with the fairies!" That got my legs moving, and when I half turned to glare at the muffled laughter behind me, Epsilon was gone.

The rest of Avril's stay passed in a lazy, dream-like haze. I spent a lot of my time being questioned constantly about Epsilon and everything related to him, usually by Dad or Avril. Mrs. Shilling would finish her self-assigned chores in record speed then vanished for hours at a time; no doubt down at the cottage, reading her father's life. Otherwise, Avril and I had a normal holiday; we danced, we played music too loudly, we spent far too much time on the internet, giggling over one thing or another.

In short, I could relax; I didn't have to be frightened of what I would see in town when we went shopping for trinkets for Avril's family. On one of the days we went in, Ely, Luke and Dr. Parker were all sat outside Jerry Cork's house. Dr. Parker's car was outside, so I guessed he was doing his rounds and was stopping to tend to Jerry's hands. The four men were quiet though; sombre. When Avril and I passed, they glanced up. Luke looked away immediately, followed by a morose Jerry. Dr. Parker nodded and attempted a cheery hello, but sounded strained and bleak instead before turning away again, his head down. Ely stared at me the longest, saying nothing, but when he finally lowered his pale eyes, there was a weariness in the action that said more than Dr. Parker's blustering ever could.

These men were broken, defeated, and I couldn't help but pity them.

When Avril finally left, and we'd waved until her ferry was out of sight, I called Domino and told Dad I was going for a walk. Dad nodded and headed to the beach for some photos. I went straight to the cottage.

The cottage looked in better repair than I'd ever seen it. It still looked ancient from the outside; the roses already starting to choke the windows and block out the light, and the roof over the pigeon's room was still riddled with holes and missing tiles, but _inside_ it looked brilliant. Still old, still quirky and foreign and slightly ramshackle, with an air of harmless chaos about the place, but fresher than it was. No broken tiles, bright sunlight gleaming in through the tops of the windows, where the glass was cleaner and not obscured by rampaging flora. The sawdust and wood shavings had been swept outside, with just the odd curl of bark and the sharp, warm scent of crafted timber left to show they had been there. The furniture was complete; the patterns carved and wood smoothed down until it reflected the light without any gloss paint or finish to make it shine.

The decorations were repaired or replaced as well; the wooden O was finished and stood silent vigil on its restored shelf; the jars of incense were scattered about in their usual harebrained manner – I spied a couple hiding behind the bristles of a broom that was so choked with dust that I doubted it had been used since the cottage was built. Whenever _that_ was. I wondered if Epsilon had heard me talking to Mrs. Shilling and was purposefully living up to his messy reputation. Then again, I guess he could afford to be this disorganised – if I had forever to look for something I'd misplaced, I wouldn't be too concerned about leaving things lying around in odd places.

Smiling fondly at his quirks, I shook my head at my currently-absent host and made my way upstairs, my humour fading away as I recalled the picture folded up in my jeans pocket, rescued from the washing machine. It wasn't the picture that bothered me; on the contrary, I liked it. It was its twin that unnerved me; or rather what its twin had become.

The frame was still lying on the desk where Epsilon had left it; the metal slightly dented and scratched after its fall out of the window.

I pulled the round picture out of my pocket, unfolding it carefully, but I hesitated to put it back in the frame. I didn't want to touch that thing after the face I'd seen in it.

"It's no longer there, Jess."

I turned at Epsilon's voice, smiled when I saw him standing in front of the mirror – the way he'd done before I first opened the silver boxes, scaring me half to death in the process.

This time, he didn't disappear when I blinked. Instead, he walked over and picked up the frame. I chewed on my lip, eyeing the frame nervously, but not for long. He turned the wood over briskly, showing the Ouroborus and its title. Black and gold. That was it. With a sigh, I let my breath out and nodded, carefully taking the frame Epsilon handed me and replacing the picture I'd torn from it. As soon as I did, a deep sense of relief and satisfaction spread through me. By the time Epsilon had replaced the frame on the wall, I was smiling. When he turned and smiled back, I laughed. It was good to feel safe again.

"I'm surprised at how much better this place looks – you've got a lot done in under two weeks," I said, waving an arm around at the cottage in general after boosting myself up into the hammock.

"I mean, I dunno how long it takes to make a bookcase or rocking chair, but I'd guess it'd take a while, especially with everything else to fix – but you made _those_ in just a couple of days!"

He seemed amused at that, if his grin was anything to go by.

"I've had plenty of time in which to repair the cottage," He replied innocently. I just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, plenty of time...fifty years in the future or past!" I pointed out. He just laughed and didn't deny anything.

Rolling my eyes at him, I rummaged through my backpack – a new one, since the old one had stank of mildew and old water, even after drying out – and pulled out the book of songs, leaving my swinging seat to hide it in the draw with the box file.

The action reminded me of the not-so-pleasant task awaiting us at the Ouroborus Stone. I grimaced as I stood up, glancing out of the window towards the Stone, though it wasn't visible from here.

"So, getting rid of Cimul's body I understand. But how are we going to stop the stone from being used again?" I asked. After all, even though the thicket had kept people out til then, all it had taken was me hacking away with a pocket knife to reach it and clear it. Anyone else could do the same, and bring him back.

"Your idea to bury the body in the ocean was a good one," He said, straightening from where he'd 'rested' against the wall, though his body was once again in that half-there, half-mist state. I just rolled my eyes at him again as he spoke – if anyone else had said that, I'd have known they'd read my diary. With Epsilon, it was just a given that he knew things. Hell, he might have seen me writing that entry. I had no way of knowing, so I didn't call him on it.

"But?" I prompted, catching the drawn-out tone that typically precluded the word. Epsilon smiled at my perceptiveness and continued.

"But not the one we will use. As for the Ouroborus Stone, it should be destroyed. That way, it cannot be used again. The body can be dealt with at the same time,"

Well, that was simple. Not.

"I don't know about you, Epsilon, but without a sledgehammer and more muscle than I've got, I can't break that thing apart. Never mind smashing up stone, have you seen the size of that thing? It's practically a table!" But he was holding up a hand to quiet me, which I reluctantly complied with.

"I don't expect you to destroy it, Jess," Though he looked very entertained by the mental image of me waving a sledgehammer about, I'm sure. He was holding back a grin, anyway. "And sledgehammers won't be necessary," He added. Well, good for him. Maybe we were going to blow it up or something. I wouldn't put it past him, at any rate.

Epsilon waved me out of my thoughts on pyrotechnics and out of the cottage, Domino following us when we found him in the kitchen, sneezing at the wood shavings.

It was strange, going anywhere with Epsilon. Usually, he'd drive me up the wall for ten minutes, finally give me a clue I could understand, then send me packing (i.e. running all over the island). If he needed to talk to me again, he'd either tell me to come back to the cottage, or make his presence known wherever I was. This walk across our land, and the mad run towards the village last night, had been the only times I'd actually travelled with Epsilon (I don't count trailing a drunk Mike-in-the-red-beret along the beach, on the night of the Greet, since I didn't know it was Epsilon at the time). I guess I'm trying to wrap my mind around walking anywhere with someone who can randomly appear and disappear at will.

We didn't talk on the way to the Ouroborus Stone; both of us content to leave the other to their thoughts and laugh at Domino blinking in confusion at a particularly swift rabbit that seemed to vanish into its bolt hole, leaving my dog staring at empty ground, bemused.

As I started to recognise the forest around the stone, the nerves that I'd kept at bay until then finally broke out of their cage and started beating against my insides like startled bats. It may be Cimul, and it may be a brain-dead Cimul, but it was still a body. One we were going to dispose of.

At the thought, I grimaced in distaste. Both for what we had to do; and that I sounded like a rather bad crime novel.

As we approached the clearing, I kept my eye on Domino; watching for any sign of distress or disgust – he had a sharp nose, and the body had been there for three days now. I had no idea if Cimul's body worked the same way a human one did, but if it was dead when it was made or crafted or whatever, then by now, especially in the middle of a baking summer, it would have started to decompose.

The thought of looking at a rotting corpse made the bats in my stomach make a bid for freedom up my throat; bringing bile with them.

But Domino was rooting about, sniffing at everything calmly as usual, so I pushed my nausea down. If he didn't smell anything...bad, then chances are the body would just lie there, unchanging, until it was occupied.

Despite my reassurances, when we reached the clearing I still hung back until Epsilon had gone in first, fidgeting nervously as Domino woofed and followed, bounding after our guide. I'm a coward, I know. But with both Epsilon and Domino heading into the clearing with no fear, I had no choice but to follow.

Epsilon was waiting, and offered up a sympathetic smile when I shuffled into sight.

Biting my tongue to distract myself from the gruesome images my imagination was firing at me, I finally turned to look at the Ouroborus Stone, and Cimul.

Motionless. Shedding, obsidian skin. Rows of snakes lining his arms and legs. Open, sightless eyes.

His monster's face contorted in fury.

Gone was the manic glee; even this empty husk reflected Cimul's defeat, and his rage.

I turned away with a shudder, repulsed. I knew we'd won, but this hollow demon still terrified me.

Behind me, I heard a low rustle. Glad of the distraction, I turned to see Epsilon pulling at the net of thorns I'd cut away from the stone. The snarled mass fell apart under his hands; even faster when Domino, spying a new game, jumped on it, protected from the thorns by his thick fur and tough paw pads.

We both laughed, and I went over to help pull the tangle apart.

"This should make good kindling," Epsilon explained, but I frowned.

"If people see smoke, they're going to come running. A fire could wipe out the whole forest, it's so dry," I said, worried. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally set the woods on fire.

Epsilon grinned, however.

"Pet Domino," He ordered suddenly. I blinked at him, confused. He just smiled and repeated himself. Slowly, I bent to obey, calling my dog to me. His tail waved and he trotted over, always ready for a good scratch.

I went to brush his back, and frowned. Tried again.

I couldn't touch him.

Then, it all clicked – sort of.

I turned back to Epsilon, and suddenly Domino bumped against my hands, able to be touched again.

"You can control who – or what – touches something..." I said slowly, as though sounding out my half-formed revelation. "...so can you control who sees something, too?" I asked, recalling the glimpses of the past Epsilon had once given me – and the times I'd spoken to him, but not seen him. Epsilon nodded serenely, as though it were perfectly normal. I gawped at him for a second, then shook off my surprise and shut my mouth. At least I didn't have to worry about the fire getting out of hand – the flames wouldn't touch anything they weren't meant to.

"A fire will take care of the body, but what about the stone? And won't..." My queasy stomach interfered with my throat for a moment, strangling my voice until I cleared it. "Won't it stink? The body, I mean," Ugh. I did not want to be here when Cimul's body started _cooking_.

Epsilon nodded, but it looked more thoughtful than affirmative.

"Don't concern yourself with the former, and we will be gone before the latter becomes a problem," He said soothingly, though I still struggled to push away my worries.

Epsilon straightened from dismantling the soon-to-be-kindling, idly dusting leaves and thorns from his dark coat as I stretched the knots out of my back and eyed the stone unhappily. Still, when he gathered up an armful of thorns, I followed suit – glad of my long sleeves – and we slowly transferred the spiky mass to the stone, then headed out to the surrounding trees to gather more dry foliage.

When we were done, Cimul was surrounded and covered by greenery, heaped high to keep the fire going. Larger, sturdy braches were propped against the stone, forming the base of the bonfire.

Epsilon approached, brushing the dirt from his hands and looking solemn. I wondered if he had a pack of matches or something with him, but he just stepped forward, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the kindling. He breathed a word or two, too softly for me to hear, and a tiny tongue of flame danced from his fingers, latching onto the dry grass as he withdrew his hand. We both stepped back, Domino padding over to sit at my feet as we watched the flames grow higher.

Instead of watching the body, I focussed on the stone, watching for any signs of it being destroyed. I didn't notice it, at first. I'd started thinking we'd need the sledgehammers after all when I noticed the flames.

The writhing pillars were a gleaming orange, nothing unusual there. But the base of the flames, those licking the sturdy branches around the stone, they were changing. Darkening, turning purple, then blue – like a gas flame. Getting lighter; fading to the colour of a summer sky, then to that of the first light of dawn. Lighter still; a distilled watercolour, fading, slowly, to white. All the while, it was burning hotter. It reached white, and grew brighter, sparks leaping from the rock that had started to glow a dull, cherry red.

White on red, white on orange, white on white.

With a resounding crack; the sound of an avalanche starting, the stone collapsed. The Ouroborus Stone crumpled, Cimul vanishing utterly in the rubble.

I turned to look at Epsilon, and saw him open his eyes, as though from deep concentration. When I glanced back at the fire, the flames were utterly normal; their heart a dull blue, no longer searing white.

Without a word, we turned and left the clearing, the sparks from the fire leaping free, only to sizzle out harmlessly against the grass.

The walk back to the Big House was quiet, solemn. Even Domino walked sedately, sending us quizzical glances as he picked up on our contemplative silence.

I felt like I should be relieved – now that, finally, I was free of Cimul for life, as were the I-don't-know-how-many generations after me. But it would feel...I dunno, wrong, somehow, to be celebrating after a cremation. That's what Cimul's pyre had been, after all. He might have been an enemy; dangerous, heartless, and were the situation reversed – had Cimul beaten us; killed us, he wouldn't have afforded anyone the respect we'd just shown him. But I didn't feel glad that he was, essentially, dead. Relieved, yes. But not as though I should celebrate. And maybe that was right – because I would have been as heartless as Cimul if I felt any differently.

As we stepped out of the forest, the path back to the Big House a few metres away, I turned to look at Epsilon, and stopped.

He wasn't there.

But, very faintly, mingling with the loud birdsong and the distant crash of the waves against the cliff; was the serene sound of a flute. With a smile, I turned and called for Domino, and together we headed back to the Big House. Back home.


End file.
